by John Lutz
“So Beed went the same way Jerome Evans did,” Beth said. “Sudden massive coronary.” She smiled in a way Carver didn’t like. “Hattie’ll appreciate that.”
Carver thought she was probably right. These two women from different backgrounds might understand each other in a way he could never fathom. Beth had once told Carver he had a prehistoric view of women. Called him a dinosaur, specifically a brontosaurus, but said he could learn from her.
She tapped the horn as they pulled into the medical center driveway, then parked by the Emergency doors and ran inside.
Less than a minute later, several attendants and Solartown volunteers bustled out with stainless steel wheelchairs and removed Hattie and Val from the back of the Ford, rolled them into the medical center.
“This one, too,” Beth said, pointing to Carver.
“Not yet,” he told the young nurse who was appraising him while moving toward him. He pushed past her and limped in through the darkly tinted glass doors, Beth close behind him. The pain in his ribs was getting worse, making him take shallow breaths that hit like fresh blows from the rubber hose.
Emergency was tiled and painted in shades of green. There was a long counter with computers on it, a small waiting area lined with brown plastic chairs. Two old women sat in the end chairs near the TV jutting from the wall, staring not at the game show in progress but at what was going on around them. A dog-eared Reader’s Digest slipped off the lap of one of them and dropped to the floor, but she didn’t notice.
Several wide halls led from the admitting area, two of them sectioned off by swinging doors.
The old man Carver had seen drive into the Warm Sands lot after Roger Karl’s body was found in Carver’s car was leaning against the wall near the waiting area.
He strutted over to Carver and said, “I’m Commander Rubin, Solartown Posse. That Dr. Sanchez shagged ass outa here just after I picked up the call on the police frequency. Two Posse patrol units pulled his car over near the highway exit. Against the rules, but what the hell? He didn’t resist. He’s being held till the other police get there.”
“Right now,” Carver said, noticing that Rubin smelled strongly and dizzyingly of pipe tobacco, “what I’m interested in-”
He stopped talking as he saw Dr. Wynn and Nurse Gorham approaching. They were halfway down the long hall and hadn’t noticed him. He moved over out of line with the doorway, almost out of sight, but where he still had a narrow view of the hall. Waited. Commander Rubin squinted at him and stepped aside, as if Carver might have been struck unaccountably mad and needed reassessment. But Beth had observed him and figured out what was happening.
Wynn saw Hattie Evans being wheeled into one of the observation rooms and stopped. Nurse Gorham, surprised, halted with him, so abruptly that her rubber-soled white shoes eeped on the tile floor.
It was too late. They were already too far into the waiting room and couldn’t retreat.
Wynn turned, saw Carver, and froze while realization and fear distorted his features. He instinctively started to bolt. Carver brought his cane across the doctor’s back and he stumbled and fell. He scrambled to get up and run, making it halfway to his feet, but Carver tripped him with the crook of the cane and he fell again. This time he crawled to a corner and sat curled with his head bowed.
Nurse Gorham had stood paralyzed and watching during the few seconds this had taken. Then she moved. Maybe she’d recovered from shock and intended to run, or maybe she was simply walking over to stand by Wynn. She only managed two steps before one of Beth’s black high heels flashed out and slammed into the back of her nyloned knee, driving her to the floor.
On her hands and knees, eyes wide with astonishment, she turned around awkwardly on the hard tiles and struggled to rise.
The shoe darted out again, catching her squarely in the side of the neck with a sound Carver felt in his stomach. Nurse Gorham lay flat on her back, whimpering in pain and pawing the air in slow motion with clawlike hands.
Beth, standing over her, said, “Guess you changed your mind about leaving.” Carver knew she’d said it to plant in the minds of witnesses that Nurse Gorham had attempted to escape, and the violence had been necessary. Beth covering herself in the event of future litigation.
Carver stared, feeling his heart banging away at his sore ribs, and said, “Christ!”
Beth smiled over at him, then calmly and with accuracy spat on Nurse Gorham.
Said, “You need a wheelchair, Fred.”
39
It was a week before Carver’s bruises began to fade. He’d suffered two hairline rib fractures on his left side, and he still wore elasticized wrapping around his midsection most of the time. The pain still sneaked up on him at night, or grabbed him after sudden movement, but less frequently now and with less bite.
He and Beth stayed at the Warm Sands while he healed, giving up her room so she could move in with him.
They were lying now on the artificial beach, side by side on large towels they’d carried down from the room. Carver was on his back with his eyes closed, letting the sun do its healing work, listening to the shouts and laughter of kids down by the artificial lake.
His eyelids fluttered as he felt Beth’s light touch on his bare chest, the pleasant coolness of the sun tan lotion she was rubbing into him with soft circular motions. She had hands like no woman he’d ever known.
“I got a call from Hattie this morning,” she said.
Carver said, “Hmm.”
“She’s feeling pretty good now, comparatively. Jaw still hurts, but it’s getting better. Least you can understand her on the phone okay.”
Women and phones, Carver the brontosaurus thought.
“She didn’t say it, but she’s enjoying nursing Val back to health, taking care of him. She called from his house. I don’t think she’s spending much time in hers these days.”
Hmm.
“Things work out for people sometimes,” Beth said, “if they just keep keepin’ on. That old bastard Val’s finally got what he wanted. He’s happy as a pig in shit just to lie around and let Hattie nurse him. Kinda pathetic.”
Carver didn’t say anything. A warm breeze moved over his body. Beth’s hands continued to work their miracle. He knew exactly how Val must feel. Felt the same way himself.
Liked it.
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Document ID: fbd-082520-0243-7b44-1094-b05d-a6de-29d697
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Document creation date: 22.12.2011
Created using: calibre 0.8.31, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
John Lutz
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