* * *
Clint had been moved to a bed in a private room. He was still sleeping. She sat down in a pleather recliner near his bed and glanced down at her phone.
There was a text from Bryce.
Zena told me about your dad. Hope he’s ok. Don’t worry about shoot. Zena doing great job.
And another one from Eb.
Call me when you get a chance.
She laid her head back and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the room was in semidarkness. She yawned and looked around.
Clint was looking right at her, sipping water through a straw.
“Hi,” she said. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
“Like I got T-boned by a gee-dee log truck,” Clint said, laughing at his own joke.
“Does your head hurt?”
“Yeah. But I’ll live. Thanks for coming. I guess Wally called you, huh?”
“That’s right.”
“I probably shouldn’t have done that. You got work and all.”
“It’s okay,” Greer said. “My assistant took over for the afternoon.”
“She seems like a real nice girl,” Clint said. He gestured toward the window. “Getting dark out. Hadn’t you better get back to Cypress Key?”
Greer had been thinking the same thing. She dreaded the night drive down that spooky two-lane country road. But how could she just walk away and leave him in the hospital like this?
“I can stay a little while,” she said, standing up and stretching. “Do you need anything?”
His laugh was wheezy. “I could use a lot of things. Did they tell you anything about my truck? I mean, was it totaled?”
“You really are a car guy,” Greer said. “Your friend … Doc? He told me you were sideswiped by a log truck. He said you were lucky to be alive. Do you remember that?”
“I remember looking up and thinking, ‘Aw, shit. There goes my insurance premiums.’” His chest heaved with the effort of laughing, and his face twisted in sudden pain.
“You’ve got a cracked rib,” Greer said. “I bet it hurts.”
“Like a sumbitch,” Clint agreed. “All those years of stunt driving I did, back in the day before air bags and safety harnesses, I probably don’t have a rib that ain’t been cracked.” His fingers groped his chest, beneath the gown. “Feels like I’m wearing a girdle under here.”
Greer smiled. “How do you know what a girdle feels like?”
He tapped his head lightly. “I got imagination.” Now his fingers probed the bandage around his head. “Did Doc say I’ve got a concussion?”
“Yes.” She paused. “He also told me you’ve got macular degeneration.”
Clint’s face crumpled a little. “Gee-dee old tattletale. What ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”
“He said you’ve known for a while. And that you shouldn’t be driving. I guess that’s why he wanted me to come to the hospital.”
“To gang up on me and take away my car keys,” Clint said with a sigh. “Is that why you’re here?”
“Me?” The question startled her. “No. I didn’t even know about your eyes until Doc told me.”
“Why did you come, then?”
She smiled. “I’ve been asking myself that same question.”
“What’d you come up with?”
“Wally said you asked the EMTs to call me. Because I’m your next of kin. He said the hospital needed me to authorize a test or a procedure, but that was really just a pretext Doc used to get me here. So he could tell me about your eyes.”
“If we didn’t need him for poker nights, I’d sue him for malpractice,” Clint groused. He turned his head toward the window.
“How much can you see?” Greer asked.
“I can see the edges of things, mostly. It’s like there’s a dark hole in the middle of the picture. I can tell that it’s getting dark outside, I can see some of you. I was watching you sleep just now.”
“That must have been fascinating,” Greer said.
“I was thinking how I used to watch you sleep, back when you were little. The first time Lise left me alone with you, I was terrified something might happen. I pulled a rocking chair up beside your crib and stared at you the whole time, until she got home. I remember I went and got a shaving mirror and put it right by your mouth, to make sure you were still breathing.”
He tilted his head away, and Greer was surprised to see a single tear slide down his cheek.
“I used to sing to you,” he said.
“What? The theme song from Dukes of Hazzard?”
He shook his head. “You weren’t really into that. When you were about five you liked that song from Golden Girls.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know that one.”
“Sure you do.” He coughed, then launched into a raspy high falsetto. “‘Thank you for being a friend … travel down a road … something something, friend and a confidante.’”
He looked at her hopefully. “Remember? They got the reruns on television here nonstop, because this is Florida and it was set in Miami, but that show was actually shot in L.A.”
She had a dim memory of sitting in the front seat of his classic red Mustang, and of him singing to her while they went to Carl’s Jr. for burgers and milk shakes. She loved Carl’s, and she loved riding in the Mustang.
More vivid was the memory of Lise screaming at her father for being an irresponsible idiot and not putting her in a car seat. Ah, yes. Good times.
“Do you remember the time I took you to the Dukes end-of-season wrap party? And they gave you your own little director’s chair that the whole cast signed? You’d have been four. I didn’t drive the last season, ’cuz I’d hurt my back.”
“Not really,” she said, shrugging. Greer knew that her father wanted her memories of their life together to be like that dress in their Sears studio portrait, all rose tinted, with rainbows and unicorns, flavored with milk shakes and sitcom theme songs, tied up with a big, floppy pink bow. But that was his version, not hers.
He was watching her, expectantly.
“I’m no good at this,” she said helplessly. “It was all a long time ago. I’m sorry, Clint, but I can’t…”
“You should go on back to work,” Clint said after a while. “I don’t want you getting in trouble on the job because of me.” He closed his eyes again. “My head’s hurting. I think I’m just gonna take a nap now. You go on back to Cypress Key. Don’t worry about me. Doc said I can go home tomorrow. Wally can come get me.”
She waited until his breathing was regular, then tiptoed over to the side of the bed. The hospital room was so cold. She unfolded the blanket at the foot of his bed and pulled it up over his sleeping form. He didn’t stir, so she carefully moved his hands to put them under the covers.
Clint had blue-collar hands. His nail beds were rimed with grease, the fingers were calloused, and the knuckles and backs of both hands were networked with old scars and with recent cuts from the shattered glass of the wreck. For the first time, she noticed he wore a narrow gold wedding band on his left hand. She was fairly sure he hadn’t been wearing it before. She tucked the blanket up under his grizzled chin and absentmindedly patted his shoulder.
Greer found a nurse in the hallway and told him that her father was sleeping, and that she had to get back to work. “Okay. I’ll look in on him in an hour or so,” the nurse promised. “He’s due for his pain meds at nine, and then he should sleep through the night.”
She unlocked the Kia and slid into the driver’s seat, humming, then remembering snatches of the verses.
And if I threw a party … the biggest gift for me …
55
The damned Golden Girls song. It was an earworm, and she was certain Clint had deliberately planted it in her subconscious.
Thank you for being a friend
Traveled down the road and back again.…
Greer couldn’t shake it. Fifteen miles down the road she made a U-turn.
The hospit
al was eerily still. The nurse at the charge desk looked surprised to see her. “Visiting hours are over.”
“I’m his daughter. He doesn’t have anybody else,” Greer said. “I thought I’d stay with him. Just for tonight.”
“I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket,” the nurse offered.
The recliner was shockingly uncomfortable, even for a hospital. She burrowed beneath the blanket and tried to sleep. Clint’s breathing was raspy but even. She heard carts rolling down the hall outside, the low murmur of voices, the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on linoleum. Her phone buzzed. It was Eb.
“Hi,” she whispered. “Can’t believe I forgot to call you. I’m staying over at the hospital tonight. I’m in the room with him now, so I can’t really talk.”
“That’s fine,” Eb said. “I got a little worried when I didn’t hear from you.”
“You were worried about me? That’s so sweet.”
“I’m a sweet guy. You’ll see.”
She smiled as she tucked the phone back in her pocket.
* * *
The overhead light flickered on, bathing the room in a harsh blue-white wash. Clint sat on the edge of the hospital bed, his skinny legs dangling over the side.
“What’s wrong?” Greer jumped up from the recliner.
He grimaced. “I gotta pee. Bad.”
“I’ll ring for the nurse,” she said.
He shook his head. “Just help me get to the bathroom, please?”
“Are you supposed to be walking?” Greer looked longingly toward the door, willing it to be opened by a calm, competent health professional.
“Dammit, I gotta go,” Clint rasped. He slid off the bed, and faltered. His gown bunched at the waist and Greer looked away, but not before glimpsing something she knew she could never unsee.
Out of options, she wrapped her arm around Clint’s narrow waist and steered him toward the bathroom. He was lighter than she’d imagined. She turned on the overhead light, positioned him in front of the commode, and stepped out of the room just in time. Whatever else was wrong with him, it certainly sounded like the old man had a healthy bladder.
Afterwards, she helped him back to bed. His face was pale from the effort and he was breathing heavily.
“I’ll ring for the nurse,” she said, punching the buzzer attached to the side rail of his bed. Clint didn’t argue.
The nurse took his pulse and heartbeat, checked his bandage, administered his next dose of pain meds, and admonished the patient and his hapless helper for the bathroom excursion. She picked up a plastic jug–looking device from the cart next to the bed. “Next time, use this.”
Clint coughed and Greer looked away, already plotting her exit strategy.
Luckily, he fell asleep again almost immediately. Greer had no such luck. At six, she tiptoed out of the room and made her way to the hospital coffee shop, where she sipped terrible coffee and a vile-tasting vending machine pastry while checking her phone.
There were three texts from Bryce. He’d sent the first one around 10:00 p.m.
When will you be back here? Jake Newman wants to do walk-thru for demo scene.
The second text was transmitted at 10:30 p.m.
Need answer asap on your eta.
The third had been sent at 5:45 a.m.
Never mind. Zena on top of things. But still need ETA
Zena on top of things? Greer’s eyes narrowed as she considered the implications of this turn of events. Was the girl maneuvering herself into Greer’s job? The idea was laughable on the surface. Zena was cute and friendly, and if you gave her a clearly marked list of instructions, she could get things done. But there was no way she had the imagination, initiative, or intelligence to manage a big-budget film location.
Greer’s fingers flew over the phone’s keyboard.
Father should be discharged this a.m. Back by noon.
* * *
Clint sat in the wheelchair. He was dressed in the clothes his friend/employee Wally had delivered to the hospital that morning. A striped golf shirt, baggy-butt dad jeans, white socks, black tennis shoes, and a Hennessy Picture Cars baseball cap.
The nurse handed him a clipboard. “These are your discharge instructions. These are your prescriptions for the medications the doctor wants you to have. Doc wants to see you in a week to check the sutures on your head wound. Any questions?”
“What about his concussion?” Greer asked. “Anything special he needs to know about that?”
“No driving, no operating heavy machinery.” The nurse glared at Clint. “You got that Mr. Hennessy?”
Clint glared right back at her. “Can I go now?”
“As soon as you sign all those forms.” The nurse glanced over at Greer. “Try to keep him from doing too much these first few days he’s at home.”
“Me?” Greer looked from the nurse to Clint, who was scratching his name on the bottom of all the paperwork.
“Aren’t you staying with your dad?”
“No, she’s not,” Clint tossed the clipboard onto the bed. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”
* * *
Despite his protests that she should just drop him off and get back to work, Greer helped Clint out of the car and into the double-wide.
It was stifling inside, so she turned the air down and helped settle him into the brown leather Barcalounger that faced his big-screen television in the living room.
She placed his prescriptions on a table near the chair, then took his phone and plugged it into the wall to charge it.
“How about food? Can I go to the grocery store for you?”
“Open up the freezer in the kitchen,” Clint said. She did so and saw that it was completely filled with an astonishing array of frozen dinners. “Check out the cupboard there beside the stove, too,” Clint said. The pantry was stocked with rows and rows of canned soups and vegetables.
“Do you ever eat any fresh foods?” she asked.
“Wally will stop at the store and get me some milk and bananas and salad stuff,” Clint said. “You know, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I can take care of myself. I lived alone for thirty years.”
Greer couldn’t resist the temptation. “What about the years with Dirty Debbie?”
“Who?”
“Your second wife?”
“Good God!” Clint laughed, then clutched his cracked rib in pain. “That sounds exactly like Lise. I kinda forgot about old Debbie after all these years.”
“Maybe you could look her up on Facebook,” Greer quipped.
Clint grinned and shook his head. “You do have your mother’s wicked tongue, don’t you?”
“I’m afraid so,” she admitted. “It’s gotten me in trouble over the years, for sure.”
“That’s one of the things I loved best about Lise. She had a mouth that could blister the paint off a barn, and the face of an angel.” He sighed and looked around the room. “You wanna see something?”
“Maybe another time,” Greer said apologetically. “I need to get back to work now.”
“Just this one thing,” he insisted. “It’s on the dresser, in there.” He pointed through the doorway.
She walked into his bedroom. The blinds were drawn, and it was dark. She turned on the light and immediately saw what he wanted her to find.
It was a framed photo, of a much younger Clint and Lise. She took it out and handed it to him.
“Bet you never saw this before.”
The colors in the photo had faded over time, but it showed Lise, with long, very blond hair, staring into the eyes of her beloved. She was dressed in a white cotton minidress, holding a bouquet of daisies, and wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat. Clint’s hair was wild and bushy, and he appeared to be wearing a cowboy shirt and bolo tie.
“Is this what I think it is?”
He nodded. “Our wedding picture. We got married on the beach down in Cabo. Spent one night there in a motel, then headed back to L.A., because we both had jobs the next day.”
&
nbsp; Greer trailed her finger over the photo. “I didn’t know this was Mom’s wedding dress.” She looked over at Clint. “She kept it all these years. In fact, I have it. I wore it to dinner just the other night.”
“I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “I’ll be damned.”
56
She had to put Clint Hennessy and his needs and the ghosts of old memories on the back burner. Twenty-four hours away from Cypress Key meant she was basically at least forty-eight hours behind with work. Greer stopped by her room to shower and change out of the clothes she’d been wearing for the past day.
Her golf cart wasn’t where she’d parked it, in back of the office on Pine Street. Zena, she thought, had usurped both her job and her vehicle. But not for long. Despite the punishing heat, she walk-jogged down to the pier and the set.
Bryce was rehearsing Kregg and Adelyn’s scene on the seawall by the kayak rental kiosk. She could hear him berating the two actors as she approached the cluster of camera and sound techs.
“No, dammit! Danielle, you’ve got to make Nick absolutely believe he’s only imagining the voices he hears outside at night. Sell it! If he for one minute doubts what you’re telling him, the whole plot with the sheriff falls apart. Understand?”
Adelyn nodded. She was dressed in a bikini top and board shorts, with a light cotton shirt thrown over her shoulders to prevent sunburn. The sweat-soaked shirt clung to her back, and her face was already pink.
“Good,” Bryce said. “Run the lines for me.”
Adelyn rested her hands on Kregg’s shoulders and started to speak.
“Stop, stop, stop,” Bryce hollered. “Who told you to touch him?”
Greer couldn’t hear Adelyn’s response, or Bryce’s, but a moment later she saw the actress storm off in tears, in the direction of the air-conditioned pop-up tents.
“See what I mean?” Kregg said, shaking his head in disgust as his costar disappeared. “She’s a friggin’ diva. Won’t listen to anything I suggest.”
“Take a break, everybody,” Bryce called, and he and Kregg walked away, their heads bent together in discussion.
CeeJay walked up just then. “Hey. Just getting back?”
Beach Town Page 36
