My Bad Grandad

by A W Hartoin

  I started to go in, but a cruiser pulled in behind the truck and a couple of cops got out. Trevino and Bennett. Trevino walked around the car, holding out his hand. “Pay up, sucker.”

  “God damn. I can’t believe it,” said Bennett, much less starched with the beginnings of bags under his eyes.

  “Believe it. She’s covered in blood.”

  Bennett slapped a twenty in Trevino’s hand. “I should’ve known.”

  “Damn straight.”

  I crossed my arms and leaned on the truck. “Are you betting on crime? That’s pretty sleazy.”

  “We bet on you,” said Trevino with a scratch on the stubble on his chin. “I said we’d find you here, right in the middle of the first stabbing we’ve had in three years.” He popped a thumb in Bennett’s direction. “This dufus said you’d be getting a pedicure.”

  I glanced at Bennett and he looked chagrined. “What can I say? I didn’t think you’d be the type to go to No Panty Wednesday.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” I said. “My grandad thought it was funny.”

  Trevino snapped the twenty. “It’s funny to me.”

  “Don’t rub it in,” said Bennett. “I knew she wasn’t the type.”

  “But she was there and I win. So Miss Watts, what’s the 411?” asked Trevino.

  I told them what I knew, which took all of thirty seconds. Bennett took a peek in the truck. “Ben is going to be pissed.”

  “You know the owner?” I asked.

  “Yeah. It’s my kid brother’s friend, Ben Cornblum. He saved up for a year to buy it.”

  This can’t get any worse.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “His mother died during the last Rally, head on with a biker crossing the center line. The family’s broke.”

  I guess it can.

  “I’ll fix it. I swear.”

  Trevino heaved a heavy sigh. “You better. He was working at The Stone House to earn money for college. Good kid.”

  “Please, no more,” I said, hands up. “We were trying to save Robert, not trying to ruin this kid’s truck.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Bennett. “We’re just giving you a hard time. You really have no idea who did the stabbing?”

  “He was already down when I got there. I’d look at the guys that picked a fight with them at The Rack and Ruin.”

  “They knew your grandad and his friends?” asked Trevino.

  “Seemed to,” I said.

  “Haven’t you asked them to identify these men?” asked Bennett.

  I rolled my eyes. “Gee, I never thought to do that.”

  “Miss Watts,” said Trevino with a hint of irritation.

  “Of course, I asked, but they weren’t interested in answering.”

  “Why not?”

  “No idea. I think it has something to do with the war, but I got nothing. My grandfather knew I wasn’t happy about it, but he wouldn’t budge.” I told them exactly what the guys said or rather what they didn’t say.

  “The war,” said Trevino. “Did they forget it’s over?”

  “I get the feeling that it’s over for my guys. Not so much for the guys in the bar.” I glanced through the doors. “I really need to get in there. My grandad got slashed pretty good.”

  “In a minute,” said Trevino.

  A group of Harleys roared into view, coming slowly through the sheets of rain. The rest of the group. They didn’t want to cooperate and now two of their number were in the hospital. My anger heated me through the wet clothes and the blood. I might’ve smacked someone if I’d stayed. “I’m going in.”

  Bennett touched my arm. “You okay?”

  “I’m mad. They won’t help. I can guarantee that.”

  He glanced back at the riders. “That’s all of them?”

  “Yep.” I looked again. “No. The fighters aren’t there.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know their last names. It’s a couple. They know my grandad, but I don’t think they’re exactly friends. Nobody seems to like them very much.”

  “Why do you call them the fighters?’ asked Trevino.

  “They fight with each other constantly. It’s really uncomfortable, but they don’t seem to notice.”

  “Any threats?”

  “Plenty, but only against each other. I’ve got to go.” I headed to the doors that opened at my approach. Bennett snagged my arm. “Names?”

  “Steve and Jeanette. That’s all I know.”

  That was all I knew and I hated it like hell.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I FOUND GRANDAD in a gurney, charming the ER doc next to a woman having an asthma attack. She had a nebulizer and was quite pale and shaky but still smiling at the exchange. Collateral charming.

  “There she is,” said Grandad. “Will you please tell my worrying granddaughter that I could’ve walked in under my own power?”

  Dr. Caruso smiled at me. “Your grandfather is a remarkable man.”

  “So he tells me,” I said. “What do you think? Superficial?”

  “Yes. A ten-inch slice. Nicked the hip and ribs, but nothing major,” she said.

  Grandad grinned broadly. “I was lucky.”

  “Ten inches. You call that lucky?” I asked.

  “Am I dead?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m lucky.” He high-fived the doc and the asthmatic wheezed as she laughed. I know when I’m beat. I gave him a kiss on the forehead and said, “I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

  “I’m gratified to hear that my favorite granddaughter enjoys my continuing to live.”

  I snorted. “Favorite. Puhlease. You like Weepy the best.”

  “She’s sweet. I’ll give her that, but you,”—he pointed at me—“are interesting.”

  Dr. Caruso looked me over. “I’d guess he’s right about that. We can give you some scrubs if you want to get out of those wet clothes. You’re going to be here a while. I put in a request for a suture tech, but they’re busy today. It’ll be a while. I could do it, but it won’t be pretty.”

  “How long’s a while?” I asked.

  Grandad held up his hand. “Never mind. Mercy’ll do it.”

  “No, I won’t.” I was starting to shiver violently in the chill of the hospital. I couldn’t have tied my shoes, much less stitch a ten-inch wound. “Suture techs exist for a reason. It’ll look great.”

  The asthmatic held up a blanket lying at the foot of her bed. “Take this. You’re going to break your teeth.”

  I took the blanket and thanked her, but my teeth just chattered more.

  “Paula!” yelled Dr. Caruso out the door. “Can you bring some warm blankets in, please?”

  “Sure thing!” replied Paula.

  “And some scrubs! We’re about to have a hypothermia patient on our hands.”

  Paula, a young nurse with an efficient air, rushed me into the bathroom. Before I knew it, I had fresh scrubs, surgical booties, and a couple of gowns on. She put a cup of coffee in my hands before walking me back to Grandad’s room.

  “Give that girl a gold star,” proclaimed Grandad. “Mercy, you should give her an autograph.”

  My teeth were still chattering, but I managed to say, “She doesn’t want my autograph.”

  Paula smiled and said, “My boyfriend would love your autograph. Can I have a paw print from Wallace the Wonder Dog, too?”

  “I guess, but she might pee on you.”

  “That would be hilarious.”

  “If you say so,” I said. “About that suture tech?”

  Grandad shook his head. “We already agreed that you’ll do it. Once you’re warm, that is.”

  “I’m not doing it. First of all, you’re my grandfather. Second of all, I don’t want to.”

  Grandad pointed to the chair next to his bed. “Sit down and drink your coffee.”

  “All the coffee in the world won’t get me to stitch you up. It’s not what I do,” I said.

  “You’re a nurse.”

 
“I am, but I’m hardly an expert on sutures.” It was true. My stitches were just okay and I rarely did it. So many people were better at it than me.

  Grandad accepted a juice box from Paula and said, “I don’t want an expert. I want you.”

  “That’s just crazy.”

  “I’d rather be fixed up by someone who loves me. Why is that crazy?”

  I sipped my coffee. It was bad, but it sent a burning warmth down my throat that I desperately needed. “Because I might mess it up because I’m upset because I love you.”

  “You won’t mess it up. Your father says you’ve got the best instincts he’s ever seen and you’re great in a crisis.”

  “Whose father said that?”

  “Yours.”

  “You must be confusing my father with someone else who thinks I’m not an idiot,” I said.

  “Tommy thinks you’re amazing.”

  “He doesn’t.”

  Grandad smiled and reached out for my hand. “He does. We all do.”

  The asthmatic started sniffling. “I’d give anything in the world to see my grandpa again. You have to do it,” she said with big teary eyes.

  Guilt trip.

  “I’m telling you love doesn’t help with this kind of thing.”

  “Dot stitched me during the war. She loved me.”

  Dot?

  “Who are we talking about?” I asked.

  “Dr. Dorothy Watts,” he said, turning to Dr. Caruso and the asthmatic. “She was my first wife. She was a nurse then. We got divorced, but it was a great six months. I think I inspired her to become a doctor.”

  “You didn’t inspire her that much. She’s a pathologist. Her patients are dead.”

  “We both know the reason for that,” said Grandad.

  I did know the reason, but I’d never mentioned meeting Dr. Watts at Cairngorms Castle to Grandad. How do you say ‘So I met your first wife. What was that about?’

  “What’s the reason?” asked Dr. Caruso.

  Grandad looked at me and I said, “She had a tough time during the war. Living patients are stressful.”

  “Ah,” she said. “I could never be a cutter myself. It would deprive me of meeting people like your grandfather. So what have we decided, tech or Mercy?”

  “Tech,” I said.

  “Mercy,” said Grandad.

  “Come on. I’ll mess it up. Please let the tech do it.”

  Grandad leaned forward. “Paula, be a good girl and help me with this gown.”

  Paula was a good girl. She helped Grandad slip off his robe and then untied the back of his gown. I saw her reaction before I saw what she was reacting to. Her lips went into a hard line and her eyes flicked to me before she stepped away. I looked down and saw Grandad’s back for the first time in my life and there was a good reason for that. His slender, bony back was covered in rippled white scar tissue from serious burns. They covered over fifty percent of his back, part of his right shoulder, and down his arm.

  “What the hell happened?” I asked when I could speak.

  “I crashed. But the point is, do I really look like the kind of man that cares how a ten-inch scar looks?”

  My lip trembled and my eyes filled. The pain. I couldn’t imagine it. “What happened?”

  “It was a long time ago. Don’t get all fussed up about it. Just say you’ll stitch me.”

  “I’ll stitch you.”

  “Good girl.”

  Paula tied his gown and eased his robe up. “Can I get you something to eat, Mr. Watts?”

  “No, thank you, dear,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “He’s supposed to be gaining weight.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’re never hungry. He’ll take whatever you’ve got, Paula. Before I start stitching,” I said, wiping my eyes.

  “And that is why your father calls you a pain in the ass,” said Grandad with an adorable pout.

  “The shoe fits. You’re going to eat, right?”

  Grandad agreed under duress. Everyone agreed that I was indeed a pain in the ass. But in this case, I was also right and he got a full tray. An hour later, while he was noshing on applesauce, Paula popped in again. “Dr. Yazzie is here to see you.”

  “About Grandad?”

  “No. About the other one.”

  I stepped into the hall and met a doctor like I’d never seen before, not outside of Hollywood anyway. Dr. Yazzie stood six feet tall, had black hair that reached to his waist, and a pair of piercing grey eyes that both scared and excited me. I stopped breathing. I really did. I hadn’t had that kind of reaction to a man since I saw Jon Bon Jovi going into Volpi on The Hill when I was fifteen.

  “Mercy Watts?” He held out a lean, well-tanned hand. “I’m Dr. Grant Yazzie. I’m the surgeon on your grandfather’s case.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I need to discuss his case with you. He’s unconscious and decisions need to be made.”

  “Uh huh.”

  His broad brow furrowed and my knees got weak. “Are you okay? You’ve had quite a shock.”

  “Okay.”

  “Mercy!” called out Grandad. “What’s happening with Robert?”

  “Who’s that?” asked Dr. Yazzie.

  I sucked in a breath, not breaking eye contact. “My grandad.”

  Dr. Yazzie looked down at the chart in his hands. “Robert Babinski isn’t your grandfather.”

  Robert’s name snapped me out of it and I saw Paula grinning at me behind the nurse’s station. “I’m sorry. No. You want Raptor, I mean, Raquel. Last time I saw her, she was outside. She’s probably talking to the cops.”

  Dr. Caruso popped her head out of Grandad’s doorway. “No, you don’t want her. She was hysterical. I gave her a shot of Haldol.”

  “Jesus, Raptor,” I muttered.

  “What was that?” asked Dr. Yazzie.

  “Nothing. Raquel is Robert’s closest relative here. We can call his daughter, Kimberly.”

  Dr. Caruso looked back into Grandad’s room. “No, no, Mr. Watts, don’t get up.”

  “Tell them to come in here!” called out Grandad.

  Dr. Caruso waved us in. “He’s going to jump out of bed.”

  I went in and saw my grandad poised to leap out of bed. I gently pushed him back onto his pillows. “You haven’t been stitched. Stop moving.”

  “What’s the situation with Robert?” he asked.

  “I can’t reveal Mr. Babinski’s information unless you’re family,” said Dr. Yazzie.

  Grandad folded his hands over his stomach. “Sure you can. I need to call Robert’s other granddaughter and break the news. Do you want to tell her that her sole remaining grandparent has been stabbed and may die?”

  I stared at Dr. Yazzie as he said, “Mr. Watts, I’ve done similar things many times.”

  “Dr. Caruso had to drug the one sister. Cecile is no better.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I waved at Grandad. “Hello, let’s just call Kimberly.”

  Grandad shot me an odd look and asked for the phone. He called Cecile. She didn’t answer. He tried again. No answer.

  “How long do we have?” Grandad asked Dr. Yazzie.

  He hesitated, but then said, “Mr. Babinski’s condition is serious.”

  “Could be worse.” Grandad stared at the doctor and the surgeon sighed. “Try the granddaughter again.”

  Grandad did try again and left yet another message. We were at a stalemate, but Paula came to the rescue, carrying a clipboard and handing it Dr. Yazzie. “The granddaughter signed the release. Mercy Watts is now authorized to make medical decisions for Robert Babinski.”

  “That won’t hold up. She’s on Haldol.”

  Paula flipped up the top sheet of paper on the clipboard. “And a signed statement that I explained the situation to Raquel Babinski and she understood both her situation and her grandfather’s.”

  Dr. Yazzie didn’t look pleased.

  “Come on,” I said. “Nobody’s going to
sue you. I’m a nurse. Raquel says I can decide, who are you to say I can’t?”

  The surgeon reluctantly agreed. Robert, like Grandad, was lucky. His right renal vein had been partially severed and his small intestine nicked. Dr. Yazzie had reattached the kidney and repaired the intestine.

  “Any sign of peritonitis?” I asked.

  “Not yet. The leakage was minimal, but he’s very weak from the blood loss.”

  “I assume you’ve given him Ceftriaxone to ward off infection.”

  “I have along with Clindamycin.

  I sat down and relaxed back into my chair. “So what’s the decision?”

  “We can Life Flight him to Rapid City. We’re a small regional hospital. Rapid can offer specialty care. We don’t have a nephrologist on staff, for instance.”

  “How’s his renal function?”

  Dr. Yazzie rattled off Robert’s numbers, BUN, creatinine, GFR, and CBC. They were all screwy, but he had severe blood loss.

  “So he’s stable,” I said.

  “For now.”

  “Is there something he needs right now? Something you can’t give him?”

  “No, but he may need specialty care in the future.”

  I picked up my coffee, now cold, but the cup felt good in my hands. They needed something to do. “But you’d have to move him. That doesn’t always work out.”

  A flicker of doubt passed over Dr. Yazzie’s proud features. “Yes. There is a risk to moving him so soon after surgery.”

  I took a sip of my cold coffee and cringed at the acidic flavor.

  Grandad touched my arm softly. “So?”

  I better be right or Raptor will murder me for real.

  “Robert will stay here. He’s stable and jostling him around just so he can go to another ICU isn’t a great idea. We’ll wait and see.”

  “You’re sure?” asked Dr. Yazzie.

  “Yes. His numbers should stabilize within a few hours. If they don’t, we’ll rethink it. Is he putting out urine?”

  “He wasn’t.” Dr. Yazzie called the ICU and a brief smile crossed his lips. “He’s put out six cc’s.”