Strangers by Mort Castle Page B

‘Thank you.’
    “Thank you,” Michael said, “I mean that from the bottom of my heart.” Dr. Hasselbrink tried to slip free—politely—of Michael’s hand; Michael squeezed the intern’s shoulder emphatically. “I wish I knew how to tell you how much we appreciate everything you’ve done.”
    Hasselbrink turned as red as a high school sophomore who’d just learned he’d given his oral report in American History with his zipper at half mast. “Really,” Dr. Hasselbrink said, “I’m only glad I was able to give you good news.”
    “I want you to know…” Enough! ordered Michael’s mental warning system. “Well, thank you.” He released the doctor.
    “They’re getting Kim settled into Pediatrics now,” Dr. Hasselbrink said, backing away. “You should be able to see her in ten minutes or so, okay?”
    “Thanks again, Doctor,” Michael said, and Dr. Hasselbrink was out of the room, moving like he’d been summoned to perform emergency surgery on the Pope.
    Michael glanced over at Marcy. She was slumped forward, elbows on her knees, hands folded, head bowed. “Daddy’s girl” was staying away from Daddy, and Michael softly asked Beth to step out into the hall. Keeping his voice down, he asked, “Why is Marcy so down? She knows Kim’s going to be all right, doesn’t she?”
    “She feels terribly guilty, Michael,” Beth said. “You know what she told me? When she saw Kim get hit by the car, she wished it was her.”
    But what had happened? Michael wondered. He asked and Beth proceeded to tell him, leaving out no boring detail: the police came for her, told her about the accident, they were so nice, such polite young men, they even brought Marcy’s bike home in the trunk, and, well Kim’s bike was ruined of course, and then they took them all back to the hospital… Damn, Michael thought, put one quarter in the slot and the goddamned jukebox plays all night! He tuned out babbling Beth.
    Later, when he was alone with Kim (Marcy was too young to be allowed upstairs, so Michael and Beth took turns staying with her in half hour shifts in the main lobby) Michael did learn what had actually occurred. Kim, who had scraped arms and legs and no other marks to show for the accident, and who wanted to know if they could rent her a hospital television for the one night she’d be there, excitedly, but clearly, told her father about it.
    The car struck the back wheel of her bicycle. Kim flew over the handlebars, landed on the highway, and “It was like I was doing all those somersaults.” She wound up rolling all the way to the grassy median and by the time “this old guy who zapped me” got to her, she was on her feet.
    Incredible, Michael thought, the miracle that the intern had called it. But perhaps nothing was incredible, when it came to kids. One little creep drowns in a tablespoon of water, and the next day, you see in the paper that a kid decided it would be fun to jump off the Sears Tower and did so without harming a hair on his empty head.
    Kim did want to know if she were going to be punished for riding across—well, almost riding across—394. Michael pretended to ponder the question a moment, then said, “Yes. As soon as you get home tomorrow, you’re on restriction. That means no bicycle riding.”
    “Dad!” Kim protested, “Very funny. You know my bike got all squashed!”
    “So I guess you can’t ride it, right?”
    Kim glowered, sitting up in bed. “That’s not fair!”
    Michael said, “Well, we’ll talk this over when we get you home.” He put up a hand, signaling the end of the discussion.
    Before he left so Beth could begin her visit, Michael said, “You know , I bet you weren’t even scared when you were whizzing through the air like Superman.”
    Kim’s face became serious and reflective. Quietly, she said, “No Dad, this one time I was scared.”
    There would be a next time too, the time when she would know fear and finality.
    That was The Stranger’s silent