asked.
'Just nerves,' she said.
'Maybe you need a Valium or something,' Melanie said.
'Don't think so.' She rubbed her face. 'I could use a good snootful, though.'
'You've had a pretty good snootful.'
'Hardly. A few glasses of wine do not a snootful make.'
'Pen thinks that she can't be a writer without being a drunk.'
'I'm not a drunk. Tonight, however, I might prefer it.'
'What's stopping you?'
'I don't want to make an ass out of myself staggering into the hospital.'
Joyce entered the room. She wore a white pullover that looked like cashmere, a gray jacket and matching pleated skirt, hose and high heels.
Joyce and Melanie, both in skirts. Me in my white jeans. Great, Pen thought.
She should've asked Bodie to run her over to her apartment after dinner so she could put on a dress.
So who cares? she asked herself. Who am I out to impress, the nurses? Dad isn't likely to notice. And if he does…
She pictured him awake, sitting up in bed, breathing for himself, the tubes and wires disconnected.
Don't get your hopes up.
They would've called.
'Are you feeling all right?' Joyce asked, staring down at her.
'I'm fine.'
'Too much wine,' Melanie said.
'Not enough.' Pen sat up. 'Is it about time to go?'
'Pretty soon,' Joyce said. 'I'd be glad to do the driving,' she told Bodie.
'Fine.'
***
Joyce slipped the Lincoln Continental into an open space of curb on Pico Boulevard, and they climbed out.
Pen, realizing they wouldn't have to walk across the road, thought about the car that had come so close to running her down that morning. A Porsche. A sports car.
A sports car had hit Dad.
The same one that almost got me?
That's crazy, she told herself. Just a coincidence. Don't try to make something out of it.
The night air chilled the material of her blouse. Shivering, she folded her arms across her chest and clamped her teeth together.
Melanie, ahead of her, walked stiffly with her shoulders hunched, but she was pressed against Bodie's side and his arm was around her back. That had to help.
The warmth of the hospital lobby felt good.
They entered an elevator. Bodie pushed the button for Dad's floor. The piped-in music was an orchestral version of 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'. Pen wondered if the tune had been selected for purposes of irony.
When they left the elevator, Joyce led the way to the nurses' station. A nurse guided them down the corridor and opened the door to Dad's room.
He wasn't awake, sitting up, breathing for himself.
He looked the same.
He looked dead.
Pen's eyes darted to the cardiac monitor. The line on the screen jigged with each heartbeat. Every jump of the line was accompanied by a beep.
Joyce went to the bedside and squeezed his hand.
The rhythm of his heart didn't change.
He has no idea we're even here, Pen thought.
'It's Joyce. Can you hear me? Can you understand me?' Joyce waited as if for a reply. 'Your daughters are here. Melanie came all the way from Phoenix to be with you. We're all pulling for you, Whit. You're going to be all right. You'll be just fine.' She was silent for a little while. Then she looked around at the others. 'Could I be alone with him for a few minutes?'
They went out to the hallway. Pen closed the door.
'Why doesn't she want us in there?' Melanie whispered.
'She's his wife,' Pen said. 'She wants a little privacy with him.'
'He's in a coma.'
'A little privacy with a gal like Joyce might pull him out of it,' Bodie suggested.
Melanie glared at him.
'Sorry,' he muttered. 'My big mouth.'
'Don't worry about it,' Pen said, more to her sister than to
'Just nerves,' she said.
'Maybe you need a Valium or something,' Melanie said.
'Don't think so.' She rubbed her face. 'I could use a good snootful, though.'
'You've had a pretty good snootful.'
'Hardly. A few glasses of wine do not a snootful make.'
'Pen thinks that she can't be a writer without being a drunk.'
'I'm not a drunk. Tonight, however, I might prefer it.'
'What's stopping you?'
'I don't want to make an ass out of myself staggering into the hospital.'
Joyce entered the room. She wore a white pullover that looked like cashmere, a gray jacket and matching pleated skirt, hose and high heels.
Joyce and Melanie, both in skirts. Me in my white jeans. Great, Pen thought.
She should've asked Bodie to run her over to her apartment after dinner so she could put on a dress.
So who cares? she asked herself. Who am I out to impress, the nurses? Dad isn't likely to notice. And if he does…
She pictured him awake, sitting up in bed, breathing for himself, the tubes and wires disconnected.
Don't get your hopes up.
They would've called.
'Are you feeling all right?' Joyce asked, staring down at her.
'I'm fine.'
'Too much wine,' Melanie said.
'Not enough.' Pen sat up. 'Is it about time to go?'
'Pretty soon,' Joyce said. 'I'd be glad to do the driving,' she told Bodie.
'Fine.'
***
Joyce slipped the Lincoln Continental into an open space of curb on Pico Boulevard, and they climbed out.
Pen, realizing they wouldn't have to walk across the road, thought about the car that had come so close to running her down that morning. A Porsche. A sports car.
A sports car had hit Dad.
The same one that almost got me?
That's crazy, she told herself. Just a coincidence. Don't try to make something out of it.
The night air chilled the material of her blouse. Shivering, she folded her arms across her chest and clamped her teeth together.
Melanie, ahead of her, walked stiffly with her shoulders hunched, but she was pressed against Bodie's side and his arm was around her back. That had to help.
The warmth of the hospital lobby felt good.
They entered an elevator. Bodie pushed the button for Dad's floor. The piped-in music was an orchestral version of 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'. Pen wondered if the tune had been selected for purposes of irony.
When they left the elevator, Joyce led the way to the nurses' station. A nurse guided them down the corridor and opened the door to Dad's room.
He wasn't awake, sitting up, breathing for himself.
He looked the same.
He looked dead.
Pen's eyes darted to the cardiac monitor. The line on the screen jigged with each heartbeat. Every jump of the line was accompanied by a beep.
Joyce went to the bedside and squeezed his hand.
The rhythm of his heart didn't change.
He has no idea we're even here, Pen thought.
'It's Joyce. Can you hear me? Can you understand me?' Joyce waited as if for a reply. 'Your daughters are here. Melanie came all the way from Phoenix to be with you. We're all pulling for you, Whit. You're going to be all right. You'll be just fine.' She was silent for a little while. Then she looked around at the others. 'Could I be alone with him for a few minutes?'
They went out to the hallway. Pen closed the door.
'Why doesn't she want us in there?' Melanie whispered.
'She's his wife,' Pen said. 'She wants a little privacy with him.'
'He's in a coma.'
'A little privacy with a gal like Joyce might pull him out of it,' Bodie suggested.
Melanie glared at him.
'Sorry,' he muttered. 'My big mouth.'
'Don't worry about it,' Pen said, more to her sister than to
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