HOSPITAL I learned that the bullet wound would be more of a nuisance than anything. The bullet had sliced through the skin just above my hip and lodged in the base of the table next to where Katie and I had been sitting. The man in the blazer had left just in time. A second bullet smashed into the espresso machine behind the counter, showering beans everywhere, but missing the barista, who had bent over to pick up the luckiest straw she’d ever dropped.
The doctors slapped a bandage on my side and gave me a tetanus shot. If that had been all of it, I’d have been on my way that day. My finger was the bigger problem. It came between Katie’s head and the tile floor. When the bone snapped, it sliced through the skin. By the time the doctors surgically rearranged things, it was clear my shooting hand would be out of commission for at least ten weeks. They insisted on keeping me in the hospital overnight while they dripped antibiotics into me to hold off infection. The pain was nauseating. Fortunately, though, they introduced me to an amazing painkiller that had a remarkably brightening effect on an otherwise miserable day.
Kacey arrived shortly after I came out of surgery. She and Katie Parst sat with me until nearly eight o’clock that evening. Kacey and I had been through a lot together during the past nine months, but this was the first time I’d seen her so rattled. I supposed that after losing her father, she figured I was basically all she had left. That would be sufficient to rattle anyone.
She was crying before she even got through the door of the hospital room, something I had never seen her do, not even after her father died.
In my entire life, I couldn’t recall a single person who had ever cried for me. In retrospect I recognize how sad that was. My mother left when I was nine, and even when she was around she was too emotionally bedraggled to cry for anyone but herself. My grandparents had died by the time I was six, and I barely knew them anyway. Dad loved me, but he was a Special Forces officer. They don’t cry much. Besides, by the time I was seventeen, he was dead and I was alone. There simply wasn’t anyone else.
So, I’m not too embarrassed to say that I enjoyed it when Kacey sobbed over me. In fact, I cried, too, which is no big scoop, because I’ve always cried at the drop of a hat. Heck, I cry when I read the lost dog notices on the bulletin board at the vet’s. Tough girl, easy crier: that’s me. It used to drive me crazy, embarrass me. After all, it’s not exactly the type of image that sells security services. But I’ve come to peace with it.
In this instance, though, I had every reason to bawl. If someone finally cared enough to cry over me, the least I could do was join her. I remember seeing a movie once where three men were dying of thirst in the desert. When they stumbled onto an oasis, they cried like babies as they waded in the water, splashing their blistered tongues and sun-baked faces. Same principle I suppose.
And I was glad that Katie Parst was there in the hospital room with us. She was just the right age to do some desperately needed mothering—for Kacey and for me. Before Katie left for the night, she asked me if I wanted her to call my mother. I thought about it for a second and told her no.
Katie gave my good hand one last squeeze and promised to come by in the morning to see how I was doing. As I watched her walk out the door, I wondered if she had a daughter and what it would be like to have Katie for a mother. I imagined that it must be good, really good.
Within a half hour, Michael Harrison appeared at the door. When I looked up, his brown eyes brightened.
“Are we going to have to get your license revoked to keep you out of trouble? Did it occur to you to call me? I heard about it on my car radio.”
I held up my splinted finger. “Doctor’s orders. No dialing.”
“Last time I checked, you had two hands.”
I shrugged.
He walked up to the bed,
The doctors slapped a bandage on my side and gave me a tetanus shot. If that had been all of it, I’d have been on my way that day. My finger was the bigger problem. It came between Katie’s head and the tile floor. When the bone snapped, it sliced through the skin. By the time the doctors surgically rearranged things, it was clear my shooting hand would be out of commission for at least ten weeks. They insisted on keeping me in the hospital overnight while they dripped antibiotics into me to hold off infection. The pain was nauseating. Fortunately, though, they introduced me to an amazing painkiller that had a remarkably brightening effect on an otherwise miserable day.
Kacey arrived shortly after I came out of surgery. She and Katie Parst sat with me until nearly eight o’clock that evening. Kacey and I had been through a lot together during the past nine months, but this was the first time I’d seen her so rattled. I supposed that after losing her father, she figured I was basically all she had left. That would be sufficient to rattle anyone.
She was crying before she even got through the door of the hospital room, something I had never seen her do, not even after her father died.
In my entire life, I couldn’t recall a single person who had ever cried for me. In retrospect I recognize how sad that was. My mother left when I was nine, and even when she was around she was too emotionally bedraggled to cry for anyone but herself. My grandparents had died by the time I was six, and I barely knew them anyway. Dad loved me, but he was a Special Forces officer. They don’t cry much. Besides, by the time I was seventeen, he was dead and I was alone. There simply wasn’t anyone else.
So, I’m not too embarrassed to say that I enjoyed it when Kacey sobbed over me. In fact, I cried, too, which is no big scoop, because I’ve always cried at the drop of a hat. Heck, I cry when I read the lost dog notices on the bulletin board at the vet’s. Tough girl, easy crier: that’s me. It used to drive me crazy, embarrass me. After all, it’s not exactly the type of image that sells security services. But I’ve come to peace with it.
In this instance, though, I had every reason to bawl. If someone finally cared enough to cry over me, the least I could do was join her. I remember seeing a movie once where three men were dying of thirst in the desert. When they stumbled onto an oasis, they cried like babies as they waded in the water, splashing their blistered tongues and sun-baked faces. Same principle I suppose.
And I was glad that Katie Parst was there in the hospital room with us. She was just the right age to do some desperately needed mothering—for Kacey and for me. Before Katie left for the night, she asked me if I wanted her to call my mother. I thought about it for a second and told her no.
Katie gave my good hand one last squeeze and promised to come by in the morning to see how I was doing. As I watched her walk out the door, I wondered if she had a daughter and what it would be like to have Katie for a mother. I imagined that it must be good, really good.
Within a half hour, Michael Harrison appeared at the door. When I looked up, his brown eyes brightened.
“Are we going to have to get your license revoked to keep you out of trouble? Did it occur to you to call me? I heard about it on my car radio.”
I held up my splinted finger. “Doctor’s orders. No dialing.”
“Last time I checked, you had two hands.”
I shrugged.
He walked up to the bed,
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