In one bedroom, Bree rocked Gretchen, who was sleeping soundly. In the other, Mac read to Carol. Both glanced up at Adam when he peeked in.
“You’re mother’s going to be fine,” Adam said. “We’re taking her to the hospital.”
When tears started down Carol’s cheeks, Adam entered the room and stooped in front of the child. “I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can. Miss Birdie and her granddaughters will stay with you.”
Once downstairs, he pulled out the cell again and called Hector.
“Hey, I need you at the Kowalskis’. Ouida fell. Can you come over and talk to me? ASAP.”
“Who is this?” Hector mumbled.
“Adam Jordan.”
“Oh, yeah, Pops.” Hector yawned. “Be right there.”
After he closed the phone, Adam joined George. “I’ll drive you into Austin.”
When George nodded, Adam noticed a cowlick sticking up in the back of his head. He’d never seen his neighbor with a hair out of place. The fact that it was said a lot about the man’s condition. That he’d accepted the ride so willingly said even more.
“Hey, Pops.” Hector entered the foyer with his usual high-energy gait but stopped as soon as Ouida was whisked past him.
“Didn’t expect all this.” Hector waved toward the crowd: George, the paramedics disappearing with Ouida on the gurney, Miss Birdie still at the top of the steps. Before Adam could say a word, Hector said, “Hey, Miss Birdie, you don’t want to be standing. Let me get you a chair.” With that, he took off into the kitchen. The next time Adam saw him, he was upstairs helping the pillar sit on one of the kitchen chairs.
“Isn’t that better?” Hector asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Wonder of wonders, Miss Birdie actually smiled at the kid, nearly cooed.
“Be right down, Pops.” He disappeared again, showing up almost immediately in the foyer.
“That was nice of you,” Adam said.
“Well, she’s not exactly a spring chicken, and she shouldn’t be standing,” Hector explained in a low voice. “But don’t tell her I said that. Annoys her.” As if Adam didn’t know that. “What’d you want?”
Realizing he was pretty tired as well, Adam leaned against the wall. “I’m going to drive George’s car to the hospital in Austin after the ambulance leaves. I’ll leave mine here. You’ll have to pick me up.”
“In your car?” Hector asked. “Pops, you’ve got to be kidding. That old blue thing won’t make it. I’ll be broken down by the side of the road.” He grinned. “Why don’t you let me drive that fine Lexus George has and you pick me up?”
Ignoring the words, true as they were, Adam said, “I’ll call you when I’m ready. It may be this afternoon.”
* * *
Immediately after they arrived at the hospital, nurses hurried George off to another area of the hospital to be with Ouida. While he waited, Adam drank so much coffee he could actually feel caffeine pumping through his body. It stimulated every nerve and woke up a brain that hadn’t had enough sleep, but it made his hands shake as well.
On the muted television, an anchor silently mouthed the news as pictures of earthquake damage flitted past. In the corner of the waiting room, a couple slept on short love seats. Otherwise, the area was abandoned. He could hear the pings and buzzes and an occasional voice from the nurses’ station far down the hall. But here, only the snores and grunts from the sleepers interrupted the solitude.
After a while, George entered the waiting room and threw himself into a chair with sagging cushions and wobbly arms. Before they’d left Butternut Creek, George had changed from his pajamas to immaculately tailored jeans with carefully ironed creases; a soft Carolina-blue shirt with a logo Adam didn’t recognize, probably because George hadn’t bought it at Adam’s favorite discount mall; and a pair of running shoes so expensive that Adam had once tried a pair on for fun. If George hadn’t dropped his face into his hands, Adam would’ve assumed his neighbor felt as calm and in control as his clothing suggested.
Nevertheless Adam asked, “How’s it going?” to check on his neighbor’s mental condition.
George looked up. Terror and anguish alternated across his face and reinforced Adam’s earlier concern: George didn’t handle this type of stress well. Whenever he’d talked to George—which wasn’t all that often—his neighbor seemed cool and logical. Not tonight.
“She’s—” George began in a quivering voice. He stopped to clear his throat and continue, “She’s in surgery, has been since a few minutes after we arrived. I had to sign some paperwork. That’s all I know.”
A few minutes later, a woman wearing a lab coat over scrubs approached them. “I’m Dr. Ramirez.” She reached out to shake Adam’s hand. “Are you Mr. Kowalski?”
“No, I’m her minister.” The words fell from his lips because that’s what he always said in this situation. He opened his mouth to continue, Not really. I’m her next-door-neighbor but I’m acting sort of like her minister because she doesn’t go to church but I need to be here with George this morning.
Instead he said, “That’s Mr. Kowalski,” and pointed to George.
“Mr. Kowalski, I’m the doctor who cared for your wife in the emergency room.” She sat in a chair across from the men. “Sorry I didn’t get to see you earlier. We’ve had a blitz in the ER tonight. To catch you up, we got the bleeding on Mrs. Kowalski’s hand stopped.” With a glance at her notes, she added, “Her shoulder is dislocated and that right leg is broken. Spiral break. As you know, she’s in surgery now.”
“What are they doing, Doctor?” Adam asked. George looked stunned and long past the point of putting two or three intelligent words together.
“They’ll put that shoulder back into the socket—that won’t take long—stitch the hand up because those cuts are very deep, and set the leg. They may have to put a rod in her leg.”
“The break is that bad?” Adam asked.
She nodded. “She may have to be in traction for six to eight weeks, to heal. You’ll know more when the surgeon gets in there with more information.”
“Six to eight weeks?” George said as if that were like the wait for the second coming, which he probably didn’t believe in.
“Yes, at least. Mr. Kowalski, we’re going to have someone from social services talk to you later this morning when we have more information about her condition.”
“Social services?” George asked.
“Her shoulder will be immobilized for ten days or so, and that leg—” She shook her head. “Mr. Kowalski, your wife’s going to need a lot of care. I suggest a skilled nursing facility. We have many good ones here in Austin.”
George lay back in the chair and closed his eyes. Adam feared the man had passed out until he said, “She’s going to need care for weeks? In a nursing facility?” in a desolate voice.
When no more words or questions emerged from George, Adam asked, “How ’bout one located in Butternut Creek?”
“You’ll need to check with social services. As I said, one of the clerks will be up with information and some papers for you to sign, Mr. Kowalski.” The doctor stood. “Please check at the nurses’ station if you have any questions. She’ll be in surgery for several hours, but a room should be assigned by ten. You can wait there.”
When George nodded, she walked away.
“I’ve told her a dozen times not to carry a glass.” George sat up and opened his eyes. “Especially not at night, in the dark. You don’t know what you might trip on.” He shook his head and looked beseechingly at Adam as if expecting agreement or at least understanding of that edict.
“Dangerous,” Adam said. “That’s what happened? Ouida fell holding a glass?” He pretty much figured it was. After all, he’d seen the shards of glass and the blood. But he imagined his neighbor needed to talk.
George glanced down at his hands as if seeing blood flowing from his palm. “I don’t know what happened or why Ouida went downstairs. Guess Gretchen asked for water, but I didn’t hear
her. I don’t usually hear them. Ouida takes care of that.”
Adam nodded while George shook his head.
“And I don’t know why she had those slippers on. I’ve told her not to wear those big floppy things. Too easy to step on, to trip over.” His voice sharpened. “She doesn’t listen to me.”
Adam had no answer, so they watched the silent television and pictures of destruction someplace in Asia for two or three minutes.
“Bad tsunami,” George murmured as he looked at the screen.
“Lots of people hurt.” Adam agreed. “Tsunami, an odd word,” he added, having no idea what else to talk about.
George mused a few minutes. “Japanese,” he said. “Literally means ‘harbor wave.’ What we used to call a tidal wave. Silent t.”
“Interesting,” Adam said.
“You don’t have to stay,” George said after another long pause.
“I know. I want to stay. I’m your neighbor. Besides, Miss Birdie said I had to call her as soon as we knew more about Ouida.”
George nodded. “Wouldn’t want to cross her.” A note of respect and fear colored his voice. “Not Miss Birdie.”
Twenty minutes later, George said, “You know I care about Ouida.”
“I know.”
“She’s the one who takes care of all this.” He waved around the waiting room as if she were the hospital’s chief of staff. “I mean, she takes the kids to the doctor. She…well, she does all the home stuff. The only time I’ve been in a hospital was when the kids were born.”
He leaned forward and fixed Adam with the stare that probably said trust me to his clients but only said I’m out of my element here to Adam.
“I’m a good accountant,” George said. “But—and Ouida knows this—not exactly high on the taking-care-of-others scale. I handle the money. She handles the children and the emergencies at home.”
Adam knew that from his conversations with Ouida. She’d also told him George always acted calm and in charge, but not this morning.
“What am I going to do about work?” he asked. “Someone’s going to have to take care of the children.” George glanced up at Adam. “You probably wonder how I can wonder about work when Ouida’s undergoing surgery, but this is how I support my family and I have a dozen employees. If I don’t keep the business running, they don’t have jobs and we don’t have money to live on.” His shoulders drooped. “Six to eight weeks?”
“We’ll work things out together,” Adam said. “Once you know more about the prognosis, we’ll work it out.”
“What about that mess at home?” George sat up suddenly. “The blood all over?”
“Miss Birdie will take care of that. Don’t worry about the house now.” He spoke calmly and clearly. “George, the doctors know what they are doing, and their training guided their hands. You and Ouida have friends and family who love you and will be with you. We all hope Ouida will soon be home healthy and whole, in the best possible health.” His words were actually those he used in prayers before surgery, but without what George would consider the spiritual stuff.
“Yeah. Okay. Thank you.” George nodded and settled back again, but he didn’t look as miserable as he had before that stealth prayer.
Two hours later, the surgeon approached to talk with them, pretty much repeating what the ER doctor had said. After that, George spoke with the clerk from social services, who said Ouida would be in the hospital for a few days, then taken to a skilled nursing facility. Adam requested she look into a place close to Butternut Creek.
Later, they went to the room assigned to Ouida. When the bed was wheeled in, she had her hand wound in bandages, her arm bound to her side, and her leg in a cast and hanging in traction. Looking pale and groggy, she waved weakly with her good arm. Immediately a nurse threw the men out so he could hook Ouida up to some machines.
As they waited, Adam’s cell vibrated. He clicked on a text message and read it.
“Hector’s here with my car,” he said. “With Ouida back and probably sleeping, I’m going to take off. Will you be okay to drive your car home?”
George nodded. “I think I’ll go to the office and get some work done.”
“No,” Adam stated. “You need to stay here with Ouida, then you have to go home. You have two little girls who need to know their mother is okay and have their father at home with them. They need that security.”
George sighed. “I’m not very good with this father stuff, but, you’re right. I’ll stay with Ouida for a couple of hours, then go home.”
“I’ll come back again tomorrow.” Adam shook George’s hand, then headed for the elevator.
“How’s she doing, Pops?” Hector waited in the cafeteria, his calculus book open on a table in front of him.
Adam shrugged. “Okay. She’ll be here for a while.”
“Oh, man.” Hector closed his book and stood. “You can’t drive that wreck into Austin every day to see her. That’s dangerous.”
“Too far to walk,” Adam said. “Come on. Let’s go. I want to stop and get some breakfast or lunch. Where’s Janey?”
“The Olivers down the block are taking care of Carol and Gretchen. She’s helping.”
As tired as he was, Adam let Hector drive. When they pulled up at the speaker at Sonic, Hector lowered the window. When he finished with the order he mashed the button to put the window up, but it didn’t move. The sound of grinding came from inside the door. Never a good sign.
“Great. One more problem with the car. Can’t close the window on this side.” Hector turned to frown at Adam.
“I had this happen in another car. Grab that edge of the window, the glass you can still see, and pull it up.”
“You had this happen on another car?” Hector shook his head. “Have you even had a car that had all its parts and ran well?” As the waitress skated to the car, he handed her a bill, took the change, and handed it to Adam before taking the food. “And isn’t your father rich? Can’t he buy you a car.”
“I like to make it on my own.”
“Man, you’re crazy. And if you keep driving this car, you’re goin’ to be dead.”
When they’d finished, Hector backed the car out, opened the door, got out, and tugged on the window to close it.
“Remind me not to open it again,” he said when he got inside.
* * *
When Adam entered Ouida’s hospital room the next evening, she was alone and snoring. On the windowsill sat a vase of tulips and baby’s breath. A potted plant stood on a shelf.
He didn’t want to wake her up. He reached in his pocket to pull out a card and a pen to write a note.
“Adam?” Ouida mumbled as she opened her eyes.
“Hey.” He took her hand. “I came by to let you know everyone at church is…thinking of you.”
“You can say they’re praying. I don’t mind.” She squeezed his fingers and smiled. “I sent George back home. He’s not comfortable in a hospital.”
George didn’t feel comfortable anyplace away from work, Adam guessed, but he didn’t say that.
“He won’t feel more comfortable at home, either,” she said.
“The girls will be glad to have him around.” He settled in a chair. “How are you feeling?”
“I hurt. Guess that’s expected. They are managing the pain. Even started physical therapy already, moving my fingers around and lifting my arm a little.” She shifted in the bed. “Could you get me a glass of water? Help me drink it?”
That action reminded him how incapacitated she was. Couldn’t even pour or drink water with only one arm. She faced a long rehabilitation. How would George handle that?
“What’s next?” he asked after she’d taken a few sips.
But she fell back to sleep before he’d finished the question.
On the drive home, Adam had to slow down for four or five vultures to fly away from the corpse of a deer in the middle of the highway. Texas offered up a variety of roadkill. Lots of deer, armadillos, and the occ
asional rabbit, possum, or raccoon.
He gave a sigh of relief and a silent prayer when his old car made it back to the parsonage. He needed a car to drive into Austin without asking Rex to lay healing hands on it before every trip.
Maybe it was time to buy a new car or a less used one, but he had no money. What he had left over from his salary after utilities and food—which had increased about one hundred dollars a month since Hector arrived—went into the little extras for Janey and clothes for Hector, who seemed to grow several inches a week. Adam could see his legs getting longer if he watched for a few minutes.
He’d allowed Hector to drive Old Blue around town, but, for the kid, this was a strictly inside-the-city-limits vehicle. Yes, Adam needed to put aside a little bit, save fifty dollars per paycheck. But fifty dollars a month added up to only six hundred dollars in a year. What kind of car could he buy with that?
* * *
That Sunday after the service, Adam stood in front of the church and watched the cars pass on the highway. Janey had gone back to the parsonage while Hector had sprinted out with Bobby to change and hit the basketball court.
Those kids had a lot more energy than Adam. Driving back and forth to visit an improving but frustrated Ouida, working with the Widows to make sure the girls were okay, and attempting to do the other church work and come up with the passable sermon had worn him out. He wanted nothing more than a good nap.
Well, one thing more. He also wanted to avoid Sam. Sounding more and more like a matchmaker, Sam had asked him about Gussie as he left church. When Adam saw Sam’s car still in the parking lot, he started to run toward the parsonage.
“Hey, Preacher.”
The voice didn’t surprise him. He’d heard Sam’s uneven footsteps behind him as well as the sibilant sounds of the boys shushing each other, but it did foil his escape.
“I thought if I ignored you, you’d go away,” Adam said, still keeping his back to Sam. Sort of like magical thinking. Didn’t work.
“Let’s talk about Gussie.”
Adam took a few steps away.
The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek Page 13
