Текст книги "Native Affairs"
Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens
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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 37 страниц)
His voice was hoarse, his features contorted. “I am Siksika, Nitsokan, Youngest Son.” His hands stabbed the air, the right rubbing the left, back and forth twice, making the sign for “Indian” he’d once showed her, followed by another she didn’t understand. “I am Indian, and I am not like you.”
Gone was the light tone of the early days, when he had joked about Chingachgook. This was no laughing matter now. He saw a threat to his basic identity in his strong feeling for Jennifer and was asserting himself in the most fundamental way: “I am Indian, and I am not like you.”
They stood facing each other, emotional, spent Jennifer felt the rejection and struck back with her best weapon, words.
“Funny how these scruples always arise after, you’ve slept with me,” she said nastily. “They never seem to bother you before.”
He flinched, as if she’d struck him. “That’s a cheap shot, Jen, unworthy of you. I don’t deserve it.”
Jennifer put her hand to her mouth, choking back a sob. She would not cry in front of him.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” she said. “I’m hurt and confused and somewhat lacking in tact this evening.”
Lee studied her face, his own unreadable. “I’m sorry I hurt you, paleface. I never meant to.”
“Just go, will you please go?”
She didn’t watch him go back to the bedroom for the rest of his things and didn’t turn when she heard him pause behind her.
“Jen, I—” he began.
“Leave. Now.”
He did so, and she waited for the sound of his motor to fade away outside before she gave way to the tears she’d held in check so carefully.
Goodbye, Nitsokan.
Chapter 8
Jennifer made herself sick over the whole thing. She threw up her breakfast two mornings running and was so tired she could barely keep awake. To make matters worse, she was overdue for her period, and felt bloated and out of sorts. She called in sick to work for several days and spent her time at home sleeping and feeling sorry for herself.
Dolores kept her posted on what was happening with daily telephone calls and startled her by concluding one conversation with the bulletin that Lee was also.
“What’s the matter with him?” Jennifer asked, alarmed.
“He has the chicken pox.”
Jennifer laughed so hard she dropped the phone.
Dolores’ voice came tinnily through the receiver. “Jen? You still there?”
Jennifer picked the receiver up again, wiping her eyes. “Yes, I’m still here. Are you sure about that story?”
“Sure as sunrise. They think he caught it during that visit to the children’s hospital with you. You’ll probably be next.”
“No fear. I had it in second grade. Whatever I’ve got, that isn’t it How long will he be off the roster?”
“Two weeks or so. Roy says he’s mad as hell. Everybody else thinks it’s hilarious. So do you, I gather.”
“Funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
There was a pause. “What’s going on with you and Lee?”
“Nothing.” At the moment, that was true.
“Hmmm. A likely story. Well, I won’t keep you. Rest up and take care of yourself, I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye-bye.”
“Bye.” Jennifer hung up, still chuckling. She went to her bedroom to turn on the radio, and glanced at the pillows where Lee’s head had rested. Her resentment of him faded with each passing day, leaving only the love behind. He couldn’t help how he felt, and his convictions were hurting him as well as Jennifer. No one would ever be as good for him or love him as much as Jennifer did. And he would never want anyone the way he wanted her. Jennifer knew that on some subconscious level he was well aware of all this, and he would have to live with the choice he had made for the rest of his life.
She lay down on the bed and took another nap.
* * * *
Jennifer was back at work a week when Dolores buzzed her on the intercom one afternoon.
“Dawn Blacktree to see you,” Dolores said.
Jennifer put aside the work she was doing, puzzled. What was this? She had sent Lee a funny get well card, but had not expected a reply and so far had received none. Could this visit be connected to that impulsive act? Was Dawn here to tell her that Lee wanted no further communication between them?
“Send her in,” she told Dolores.
Dolores opened the door, eyeing Jennifer cautiously. She lingered as long as was decently possible and then went out quietly, closing the door. Jennifer wasn’t fooled. She was probably standing on the other side with a glass to her ear.
Dawn was looking very lovely, dressed in a deep rose pantsuit, her glorious hair falling straight to her waist from a center part. She seated herself gracefully in a conference chair and gazed serenely at Jennifer.
“Hello, Dawn. It’s nice to see you again. What can I do for you?”
“Lee asked me to come in to see you. Our local newspaper in Montana needs copies of some of his publicity releases. They’re preparing a Lee Youngson Day back home, a sort of a county fair, and the proceeds from the booths and exhibits will go to the Indian school Lee and I attended. This is a list of the publications and the dates.”
Jennifer took the sheet of paper Dawn handed her, aware that Lee had sent Dawn to do this rather than call Jennifer himself.
“I’ll have duplicates prepared today and mail them to Lee’s house.”
“Thank you.” Dawn smoothed her tunic over her knees. “That is not the only reason I came, Ms. Gardiner.”
“Please call me Jennifer.”
“All right, Jennifer. I could have telephoned, but I wanted to see you in person.”
Jennifer waited, watching the Indian girl.
“Lee has been ill,” Dawn began.
“Yes, I heard that I hope he’s feeling better now.”
Dawn met Jennifer’s eyes directly, her black gaze candid. “His illness has been of the spirit as well as the body.”
“I...don’t know what you mean.”
Dawn smiled gently. “I think you do.”
Jennifer said nothing, listening.
“Nitsokan…admires you very much,” Dawn said, reverting to the use of Lee’s Pikuni name, choosing her words carefully. “He is most unhappy right now.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
Dawn’s eyes were wise. “You are an intelligent woman, Jennifer. You say the correct, polite thing, but you are thinking all the while, your mind racing as you make pleasant conversation.”
“Dawn—”
Dawn held up her hand. “Please let me finish. You did not know Nitsokan as a child, as I did. I was younger, yes, but I saw a great deal with the clarity of a child’s vision. You do not know what his life was like. He was taken away from us to play football, and he has been straddling two worlds ever since, not completely at home in either one. For a man of his strong loyalties, deep commitments, it is very difficult.”
“I can appreciate that.”
Dawn smiled again. “Can you? I think not.”
Jennifer was tired of being lectured about her lack of perception. “I am not completely without understanding, Dawn.”
Dawn folded her hands in her lap. “I see that you resent me, because you think I am his lover. I am not I wish to be, and his wife also, but he does not love me. I think he wants to, but he does not.”
Jennifer was stunned into silence. That was quite an admission.
“You look surprised,” Dawn said.
“I am. I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”
“To help you,” Dawn said simply. “I know how hard it is to care for Nitsokan. Others have come and gone, attracted perhaps by the money and the glamour, what he calls ‘the image,’ but I sense these things mean little to you. If you were like the rest, he would not think so much of you. He has not told me this, but I have guessed. He would be very angry if he knew I was talking to you this way, but because of his regard for you, I have done so.”
Jennifer didn’t know what to say. Such generosity to a person Dawn could only view as a rival was very rare.
“I must go,” Dawn said, rising.
Jennifer walked her to the elevator. As the doors opened, she put a hand on Dawn’s arm.
“I hope he does find happiness, Dawn.”
Dawn smiled sadly. “For Nitsokan, it will not be easy. Like the sun which is his totem, he bums brightly, but with a dangerous light.” She inclined her head in farewell as the doors closed in front of her.
Jennifer stood staring at the space Dawn had occupied seconds before. The Blackfoot girl’s innate dignity and quiet self-containment had made her feel inadequate, outclassed. She shook off the notion and turned to go back to her office, colliding with Dolores.
“What?” Dolores demanded. “What?”
“You’re stuttering, Dolores.”
“Why did she come here?”
“She wanted copies of some of Lee’s releases. No big deal.”
“Then why did you look like that when you came out of your office with her?”
“Like what?”
“Like she had dropped a bomb on you.”
“Your ever-exotic imagination is working overtime again, Dolores.”
“Don’t give me that If you would only—”
“Do you like your job here, Dolores?” Jennifer interrupted pointedly.
“Boy, are you a grouch.”
“I seem to recall telling you that a memo had to be hand delivered to the city editor at the Inquirer by four o’clock. To my knowledge, you haven’t left yet.”
Dolores took her jacket from the back of her chair and picked up the envelope from her desk. “I’m gone,” she said. “But I hope your disposition has improved by the time I get back.”
Her boss reflected glumly that there wasn’t much chance of that.
* * * *
Jennifer realized that she was pregnant on a gorgeous October day at 8:30 in the morning. She had struggled to button her blouse, and when her skirt wouldn’t zip, she gave up in frustration, reaching for a looser pair of slacks instead. What on earth had she been eating to cause this? She’d been too nauseated lately to really…
Her hand froze in the act of reaching into the closet, and she slowly sank to the edge of the bed. She’d missed a period, but had thought that was caused by her bout with what she’d assumed was the flu. Until now she hadn’t connected the frequent upset stomachs, the fatigue, the general malaise with the first, and most important, clue. She sat for a few moments, thinking, and then took off her remaining clothes and examined herself in the full-length mirror.
There was no doubt about it. Her breasts were fuller and her usually flat stomach looked rounder, more pronounced. The difference was slight, but noticeable if you looked for it.
She raced to the kitchen, stark naked, and ripped the calendar off the wall. Her breath coming in excited gasps, she counted off the days, and then dropped it on the table, a look of wonder on her face. It was true.
Jennifer called her gynecologist and made an appointment for the following week. Then she called her office and said that she would be late. This was too much to absorb in a few minutes. If she tried to drive to work now, she would probably wind up in a wreck.
Jennifer’s first reaction was a surge of pure, unadulterated joy. Lee’s baby. She was going to have Lee’s baby.
Not for a moment did she consider the alternative. She wanted to be a mother, and a mother to this child in particular.
A curious calmness descended over her after the initial burst of emotion. Jennifer knew exactly what she would do. She would find another job, move away, and raise the child by herself.
Telling Lee was out of the question. His strong sense of duty would compel him to marry her, and she didn’t need a shotgun husband. If he hadn’t wanted her enough to take the step before, she would not use this as an added inducement.
Jennifer got up and headed for the bedroom to dress again, grinning to herself. Lee’s baby! Maybe it would look like him, have his smile, his easy, effortless grace. She sagged against the wall, laughing out loud. What a gas.
* * * *
Jennifer was waiting for Marilyn when she got home from work, toting a sack of groceries and Jeff’s bookbag and lunchbox. Jeff was spending the night with a friend, and had sent the day’s debris home with Mom.
“Hi, Jen,” Marilyn said, as she unlocked her door and staggered inside. “What are you doing here?”
“I need your advice.”
“What, again? Cawassa’s favorite son up to his old tricks? Come on in, just let me dump this stuff.”
Marilyn set her bundles down on the kitchen table and kept walking, finally collapsing in a living room chair. “Well?”
“I think I’m pregnant.”
Marilyn got up again instantly, raising her hand to forestall further discussion. “Don’t say anything else, I beg of you. I need a drink before I hear the rest of this.” She got a bottle and a shot glass from the dry sink in the corner and bolted two fingers before looking at Jennifer again.
“Would you mind repeating that, please?”
“You heard me the first time.”
“You think you’re pregnant Don’t you know?”
“Well, I’m new at this, Marilyn, I’ve never been pregnant before. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. But I’m pretty sure, and I’m going to Dr. Bellini next Wednesday.”
Marilyn closed her eyes. “Jennifer, what is wrong with you? How could you be so irresponsible?”
“Don’t scold me, Marilyn. I’ve been thinking.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“I’m going to have it.”
Marilyn set her glass down with a bang. “Now I’ve heard everything. Do you realize what you’d be taking on? Raising a child is a full-time, lifelong responsibility. I’ve done it alone for years and I know what I’m talking about.”
“That’s exactly my point,” Jennifer replied. “You’ve done it, so can I. Marilyn, you have a child by a man you loved. You are reminded of him every time you look at Jeff and remember that love. I want that, too, and this is my chance to have it.”
Marilyn fell silent running the tip of her finger along the rim of her glass. “I suppose you won’t consider telling Lee.”
“You suppose correctly.”
“Don’t you think he’ll figure it out when he returns next season to see you packing a papoose that will probably bear a startling resemblance to his family?”
“I have a plan to cover that,” Jennifer said “And in case you get any ideas about telling him yourself, be warned that I will put a contract out on you the minute I hear about it.”
Marilyn sighed. “What’s your plan?”
Jennifer outlined what she was going to do, while Marilyn went to the kitchen and made grilled cheese sandwiches. They conversed through the alcove between the two rooms, until Marilyn carried the food in on a tray.
Marilyn handed Jennifer a plate and said, “Let me know what I can do to help. I’ll miss you. I have some money saved, if you need it.”
Jennifer smiled. “For heaven’s sake, Marilyn, you’re acting like I’m going to wind up slinging hash in some roadside diner, scrubbing floors at night to buy junior’s little booties. I’m a professional, I’ll make enough money to support both of us. And there are plenty of day-care centers and nursery schools to enable me to continue working. So stop worrying and be happy for me.”
“Here’s to motherhood,” Marilyn said, saluting Jennifer with her sandwich. “I withdraw my objections.”
Jennifer reciprocated and then took a huge bite.
* * * *
On Monday morning Jennifer called two firms of “headhunters” in New York, personnel agencies that placed people in her field. She told them what kind of position she wanted and the same day mailed out the resumes she had typed up over the weekend. She felt capable, efficient, resolved. She had time yet, and it was likely she would find something suitable before her appearance gave away her condition.
The last thing she had to do, before tendering her resignation, which would have to wait until she had an offer, was to tell Dolores what she was planning. In the interest of fairness, Dolores should know that she might shortly be working for a new boss.
Jennifer waited until Dolores was getting ready to leave for the day, and then asked her to sit down for a minute.
“I have some news, Dolores.”
“You’re pregnant.”
Jennifer stared at her, stunned. “How did you know?”
“A blind man could see it.”
“I didn’t realize it was so obvious.”
Dolores crossed her legs. “Relax. It isn’t obvious, only to me. I work with you every day, remember?” She swung one foot in 3/4 time. “And I saw you throwing up in the ladies’ room on several occasions.”
So much for privacy at the office. ‘Tm going to move, Dolores. I’m looking for another job.”
“It’s Lee Youngson’s, isn’t it?”
Jennifer didn’t answer.
“Ah, come on, Jen, who do you think you’re kidding? After that dance at the Stratford, your mutual fascination is hardly a secret.”
“That’s exactly the reason I have to go.”
“You’re going to have it, then.”
“Yes.”
“Good for you.”
Jennifer felt a wave of affection for her secretary. She wasn’t going to try to talk Jennifer out of it She understood.
Dolores stood up. “Now let me see. It’s time to start taking care of you around here. Glasses of milk on coffee break, feet up for ten minutes in the PM, no salt, no booze, easy on the calories. I’m at your service. All I ask in return is that you name it after me.”
Jennifer laughed. “You missed your calling, Dolores. You should be running a prenatal clinic.”
“I will be, right here.”
“Not a word of this to anybody.”
“My lips are sealed.”
They packed up and left together, united in their shared secret.
* * * *
Jennifer kept her doctor’s appointment, and the nurse called her two days later with the results of her tests. They were positive. Jennifer was indeed pregnant.
* * * *
That Saturday Jennifer took the train to New York for her first interview.
Chapter 9
Autumn came to eastern Pennsylvania. The leaves on the trees turned a myriad of colors, and summer transformed itself to fall. The football season was in full swing, and Jennifer kept track of Lee’s progress by reading what came across her desk and watching the sports coverage on the local news.
She missed him more than she would have believed possible. Nights alone were agony, so she filled them with packing as much as she could ahead of time. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she was sure she was going to go.
Almost every Saturday she interviewed for jobs. After a preliminary meeting during which she conferred with the placement agency’s representative, she was presented with a description of open positions as they became available. Since she was willing to go anywhere and also to take a cut in salary, these were more numerous than she had expected If she and the prospective employer were both interested, the agency set up a meeting. Twice she flew out-of-town, but most often she was interviewed by someone from the company who happened to be in Philadelphia or New York.
The schedule was exhausting. Jennifer was beginning to feel better, the nausea had almost disappeared, but she spent most Saturdays dressing up, trying to make a good impression on strangers, and trekking back and forth to and from hotel suites or luncheon appointments. On Sundays, she crashed. She almost relished the constant activity, however. It didn’t give her much time to think about other things.
Thanksgiving was almost upon her before she found the job she wanted. She was beginning to think she never would, but just when she was giving up, the placement representative contacted her with the ideal position. It was similar to the one she presently had, but with much wider ranging responsibilities, for less money, with the Tampa Bay Bengals, in Florida. Travel and moving expenses would be paid as part of the package. She met with the personnel vice-president in New York and accepted the offer the same day it was made.
Her next task was composing a letter of resignation for Harold Salamone. By the time she finished, her living room was littered with scrap paper. Dolores typed it the next day, and Jennifer asked for an appointment to see him.
He was shocked and tried to talk her out of her decision. Jennifer was adamant but understood his puzzlement. Her statement that the reason for her move was “personal” hardly explained her actions. He insisted that she contact him if she ever needed work in the future, and she promised that she would.
The Saturday before Thanksgiving Jennifer tuned in to the Freedom’s home game from force of habit. It was not televised in the local area, so she listened to it on the radio. There was some small comfort in hearing Lee’s exploits described. She couldn’t help feeling a certain pride in his accomplishments. She was sorting dishes for the moving company to wrap and pack, washing the ones she was planning to take, and putting the rest in a box for storage.
The announcer was describing a pass from Joe Thornridge to Lee when he suddenly broke off, and then resumed with a strong undercurrent of repressed excitement in his voice.
“Lee Youngson is down, hit hard by number 31, Melvin Banks. Youngson was reaching for that Thornridge pass when he was tackled by the 6’ 4” 250-pound Banks, and you can bet Lee must be smarting from that one, folks.” Jennifer paused, alerted.
“Lee Youngson is hurt!” the announcer caroled. “He is motionless on the ground, and the officials are calling for a stretcher. No way to tell the extent of his injuries, of course, but he appears to be unconscious and is about to be carried off the field.”
The dishtowel Jennifer was holding slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor.
“The word here in the booth is that an ambulance is on the way to take the injured man directly to Center City Hospital. To repeat, Lee Youngson is being carried, unconscious, off the field and is being taken to—”
Jennifer snapped off the radio with trembling fingers. Mechanically, she went to the closet and got her coat, then picked up her purse and keys.
Her only thought was to get to Lee as soon as possible.
* * * *
Jennifer remembered nothing of the drive to the hospital. She obeyed traffic signals and negotiated city streets in a daze. She wasn’t sure she could get in to see Lee when she arrived, but she knew she had to try.
There was a crush of reporters in the lobby of the hospital, and she pushed past them impatiently. A hospital spokesman was dealing with them, handing out the usual party line about “resting comfortably” and “everything possible being done.” Jennifer knew the truth was to be found elsewhere.
But she soon discovered that no one would tell her anything. She wasn’t a member of the family, or part of the team’s staff, and she couldn’t even find out what floor Lee was on. She was standing in the reception area, terrified, frustrated, when she saw Joe Thornridge speeding in a side door, dodging the press, his face hunched into his collar. They were listening to the administrator and didn’t see him.
Jennifer wanted to shout for him but feared attracting attention. She waited until he had turned down one of the corridors and then scurried after him as fast as she could.
He jumped when she grabbed his arm, whirling to face her.
“Joe, it’s me.”
His eyes widened. “Jenny! Why’d you pounce on me like that?”
“I didn’t want the reporters to see you. How is he?”
Joe’s plain face darkened with concern. “Not good, sugar, not good. He’s still out, and these doctors here can’t seem to figger why.”
The knot forming in Jennifer’s stomach lightened another notch. “What happened?” she asked.
“I screwed up, is what happened,” Joe said miserably. “I overshot him by a mile, but you know he’s always got to try for ‘em, even if they’re twenty feet over his head. Banks never woulda been able to nail him like that if he hadn’t been reachin’ for the moon.”
“Where is he?”
“Third floor. Intensive care.”
“Intensive care?” Jennifer repeated faintly. Suddenly she didn’t feel very well. She stopped abruptly and put her hand to her throat Air seemed to be in short supply.
Joe put his arm around her and steadied her against his side. “Hey, hey, li’l lady, take it easy.” He turned her to face him and put his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just studied her expression. Then he stepped back and took her hand. “C’mon, sugar,” he said quietly. “We’ll go up and see what the story is.”
The ride on the elevator seemed endless. Jennifer clutched Joe’s hand as if it were a life preserver.
The scene outside intensive care was grim. Roy O’Grady and Coach Rankin sat on one of the visitors’ benches, furiously puffing cigarettes and whispering. They reminded Jennifer of French films from the sixties in which everyone smoked constantly and conversed in low, intent voices through a carcinogenic cloud. Dawn sat apart from them, her customary composure undisturbed, watching Jennifer’s approach calmly. Carl Danbury and his wife, a statuesque beauty with a curly Afro, stood off to one side. They didn’t look happy.
Mrs. Danbury took one look at Jennifer and said to Joe, “Get this woman a glass of water.”
Joe obliged, walking to a water cooler at the end of the hall, and Mrs. Danbury extended her hand. “You must be Jennifer. My husband told me about you. I’m Rita Danbury.”
Jennifer shook hands, wondering what Carl had said.
Mrs. Danbury led her to a seat next to Dawn and then sat herself, putting Jennifer in the middle between the two other women. Joe came back and silently handed Jennifer her drink.
“Did you call Sal Barbetti back?” Rita asked him.
Joe nodded.
“Is that the man who owns the restaurant?” Jennifer asked.
Joe nodded again.
“When I was there with Lee, he said something about a favor Lee did for his son. Do you know what that was?”
“Oh, his kid got into some trouble with the police when he was out to see his cousin Angelo. Lee vouched for the kid to the cops, took him in to live with him while the kid was on probation, saved him from a juvenile home, certain. Sal would do anythin’ for Lee.”
So would I, Jennifer thought, but that isn’t helping right now.
A doctor emerged from the private room, and everybody stood. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. He’s still unconscious.”
Everybody sat down again, dispiritedly. Rita Danbury patted Jennifer’s knee.
Dawn spoke up. “May I see him, Doctor?”
The doctor nodded. “Just for a minute,” he said. “Since you’re family.”
Jennifer turned to her, surprised.
Dawn met her glance. “I am a distant cousin,” she said. “But since the rest of Lee’s relatives are in Montana, I am taking responsibility.” She followed the doctor into the room.
Jennifer put her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
When Dawn came out again after a short interval she said, “Would you let this young lady see him, please?” She indicated Jennifer. “Miss Gardiner is a close friend of Lee’s, and I would appreciate it.”
The doctor hesitated, and then agreed, reluctantly. “All right. But be quick about it.”
Jennifer pressed Dawn’s hand for a moment in gratitude and walked past the doctor into the antiseptic cubicle.
She paused at the foot of the bed, as the doctor gently pulled the door closed. At first glance Lee looked asleep, but closer examination revealed an unhealthy pallor beneath his coppery skin. His black hair was like an ink stain against the stark whiteness of the pillow. Traces of the blackout he had worn during the game remained under his eyes, making the sockets appear hollowed and sunken. His big hands, which could play Chopin, catch a football from any angle, and make love to Jennifer so expertly, lay curled on the sheet, relaxed and lifeless.
Jennifer stood looking for a few moments, and then went to the side of the bed, pushing back the lock of hair that always fell across his forehead.
“I love you,” she said, because she knew he couldn’t hear it. “Please wake up, and get well.”
Then she marched out of the room and down the hall to the lounge, pushing through the swinging door and walking straight to the window overlooking the parking lot. She cried silently, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
She turned at a slight sound behind her. Joe was standing against the wall, his hands in his pockets, watching her. He held out his arms, and she ran into them.
“Oh, Joe,” Jennifer sobbed, “he isn’t going to die, is he?”
“No, no,” Joe murmured soothingly, rubbing her back as if he were burping a baby. “Course not, course not Need more’n a li’l ol’ bump on the head to take that Injun out.” Joe’s drawl was becoming more pronounced as the evening wore on. But it came and went, like the tide.
“But he looks so...still,” Jennifer said.
“Why, sure he does. That’s just because you’re not used to seein’ him stayin’ in one position that long. He’s always runnin’ aroun’ like his tail was on fire, and so now the comparison is scary, that’s all.” He pushed her hair out of her face and said, “C’mon back, now, with the others. You shouldn’t be alone in here.”
Jennifer followed him slowly back to the group.
* * * *
They kept vigil all night long. Rita Danbury went out for coffee at about 3 AM., and Joe called his wife twice, for moral support, since there was nothing to report. Jennifer fell asleep for an hour huddled under Carl’s coat and had just awakened when a nurse came out of Lee’s room, grinning from ear to ear. All eyes turned to her, and she pointed to the intern behind her, who announced smilingly, “He just regained consciousness for a few seconds.”
Carl punched Joe on the shoulder. Rita gestured to the rising sun through the window, and said, “Amen. Joy cometh in the morning.”
“What did he say?” Jennifer asked.
The intern rolled his eyes. “He said, ‘Am I in a hospital?’ I told him that he was, and he said, ‘Get me out of here.’”
Carl burst out laughing. “Sounds like our boy is on the road to recovery,” he said.
The doctor held up a hand. “Well, he’s not out of the woods yet by a long shot, but it’s a very good sign. My guess is that he’ll be with us for a while; we’ll have to run quite a few tests to make sure there was no damage before we can let him play again.” He surveyed the bedraggled company. “I suggest all you good people go home. I have your number, Miss Blacktree, and I’ll call you if there’s any change. You can visit him during the regularly scheduled hours.”
Buoyed by relief, the group began to assemble personal belongings in preparation for departure. Joe put his arm around Jennifer.
“Why don’t you come home with me?” he said. “My wife will make breakfast for us; you’ll feel better.”
Jennifer shook her head. “I’m fine, Joe. I just want to go home and get some sleep.”
Joe nodded. “All right.” He hesitated. “Jen, I...” He stopped and sighed. “He’s the stubbornest cuss I ever met. Why is it that he can’t see ...”
