Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 01 - The Trouble With Charlie by Merry Jones Page B

concussion.”
    “Just a mild one.”
    “Nevertheless.”
    “But I have to pee.”
    “Let me call the nurse.”
    “No, let me get up.”
    Jen reached for the call button, Becky pressed on my shoulders, to push me back onto the bed. Susan grabbed the tray so the food wouldn’t spill.
    “I’m fine. I don’t need a nurse.” I lifted my head off the pillows. The walls shimmied.
    “You’re not supposed to jostle yourself.”
    “NFW, Elle.” No Frickin’ Way. “You’re not getting up. Pee in a pan.”
    I was surrounded. And they weren’t giving in.
    “Guys. I’m not going to do cartwheels. I’m just going three steps to the john.”
    They considered it. Silent groupthink.
    “Fine. If you’re careful. But you have to lean on me.” Becky offered her arms to pull me up.
    “And go slowly,” Susan added. “Very slowly.”
    “Glide smoothly, Elle. So you don’t rattle your brain.” Jen stepped along with us for the distance, maybe two yards from the bed to the bathroom door.
    The walk, though short, was unsteady. Wobbly. Nauseating.My body ached all over, probably from fighting. But Becky was solid, and we made it. The walk back was less urgent, still a little dizzying.
    “Does your head ache?”
    “Jen, don’t make her talk,” Susan scolded. “We agreed not to ask her questions.”
    “Back off, Susan. I just asked if her head hurt.”
    They squabbled, like normal. Made comforting background noise. Alex Trebek’s answer was the university whose students were called, “Elis.”
    Becky mumbled, “What is Yale?” as she helped me back into bed, replaced the food in front of me.
    I gazed at the clotting gravy on the cooled mashed potatoes. Felt woozy.
    “You going to eat that?” Jen pointed at the pie.
    Ever so gently, I shook my head, “No.” Watched her grab the plate, inhale the pie. Lay back.
    Drifted. Closed my eyes.
    And remembered. Oh, damn—
    “Charlie’s clothes!” I sat up. “The funeral parlor—”
    “Don’t worry. It’s all done.” Susan nodded toward Jen.
    “Everything was in that bag, right?” Jen’s mouth was full. “I took it over before, while you were being admitted.”
    Really? “Thank you.”
    “No problem.”
    Alex’s answer was, “The university whose team is The Big Red.”
    “Oh, I forgot—the funeral director gave me this.”
    “What is Cornell?” Becky asked.
    “It was in Charlie’s jacket pocket.”
    “Don’t bother her with that now,” Susan frowned.
    “I’m not bothering her,” she snapped. “I’m just giving her an envelope.”
    “She needs to rest.”
    “It’s okay,” I said, but neither listened, in bickering mode again.
    I reached for the envelope that Jen had pulled from her enormous Louis Vuitton handbag. Held it as I lay my head back down. Thought about the man I’d killed. And Charlie. The gaps in my memory. And the police.
    Final Jeopardy was over. The teen on the right, Tyler, had won, had nailed the Shakespeare category with “What is King Lear?” Alex was shaking hands. Becky kissed my cheek, “You’ll be okay, Elle. See you in the morning.”
    Jen squeezed my shoulder, gave me a peck, whispered. “They say you’ll probably get out tomorrow. If not, the funeral director said he can run another obit and postpone the—”
    “Jen.” Susan actually pulled her by the arm. “Not now.”
    Jen stiffened, whirled around. “You are a real PIA, Susan.” Pain in the Ass. “Elle needs to know what he said.”
    “Fine. She can know it tomorrow.” Susan, the oldest, bossing us around. Just like when we were kids. “Elle’s in no condition to deal right now. Let her be.”
    Jen backed down, looked at me. Back at Susan. “Fine. You decide what she should know. You tell her.” And she stormed out.
    Leaving Susan and me by ourselves.

    Susan sat on the reclining chair beside the bed. Sighed. Rubbed her eyes.
    “It’s going to be okay.” She wasn’t convincing.
    “Are they going to arrest me?”
    “No—for Somerset