The Sparrow Sisters by Ellen Herrick

boredom.”
    â€œNettie’s often frantic,” Sorrel said. “Why are you?”
    â€œI’m nothing like frantic. I just want to get home. I’ve got gin to drink.”

CHAPTER FOUR
Periwinkle is useful against inflammation
    H enry drove west to Hayward with the last of the sun in his eyes. He had the windows open, and the rushing sound filled his head. It didn’t block out thoughts of Patience as he’d hoped it would. He too relived the moment they had stood so close in the barn; he wanted to savor it, but all he could think was, You are fascinating. Who says things like that?
    By the time he walked into the hospital, it was dark, a full hour later than he’d planned. He stopped at the front desk and signed in. It was the first time he’d been to Hayward Hospital since he registered for privileges. He picked up a badge and went to Ben’s floor. The nurses looked up as he approached;one glanced down at his limp, but the other was too busy staring at his face to see anything else.
    â€œI’m here to see Ben Avellar,” Henry said.
    â€œFamily?” one nurse asked.
    Henry hadn’t bothered with a lab coat, and he had slipped his visitor’s badge into his pocket. He fished it out and showed it to the nurse. “I’m his doctor,” he said.
    â€œWell”—the nurse peered at the badge—“Dr. Carlyle, he’s in room 512.” She pointed as Henry thanked her and walked down the hall.
    An old man, asleep, his mouth gaping, his teeth on the bedside table next to a balled-up tissue and an emesis basin, lay in the near bed. Henry tiptoed past and around the curtain where he found Ben, also asleep. His hand was on a folded pillow. It was stained brown by Betadine, wrapped in white gauze and a foam splint. Henry could see the small lump under the dressing; the wire that poked through the skin at the base of Ben’s thumb. It would be some weeks before that could come out and Henry realized that Ben wouldn’t be able to use the thumb until it did, and then only carefully. There was nothing careful about fishing. What happened when a lobsterman couldn’t pull his traps? Henry guessed his patient was in trouble. It would soon be high season, and Ben would be without his job.
    Henry took the chart off the end of the bed and read through the notes. Nothing unusual, no surprises in the blood work. He didn’t know what he expected: eye of newt or horn of toad extract from Patience? Henry huffed and replaced the chart.He went to the window and leaned his head against the cool pane. He shifted all his weight onto his good leg and sighed.
    â€œHey, Dr. Carlyle,” Ben said. His voice was scratchy, and his mouth was so dry Henry could hear the sound his lips made as they parted.
    Henry turned around and smiled. “Ben, you look well.”
    Ben lifted his hand. “Pretty well fucked,” he said. “The surgeon told me I can’t work, not for a month at least. That’s the season gone.”
    â€œI know,” Henry said. He brought a cup of water to Ben and held the straw while he drank. He took his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to Ben’s heart. It was as steady and strong as the man himself. Never mind that he was in a hospital johnny. “There has to be someone who can run your boat.”
    â€œI guess,” Ben said and squirmed up in the bed. “But summer is when I make enough to get me through. Working the cemetery, helping the Sisters, a little construction, it’s not enough. Shit, even with the boat it’s hard. The maintenance alone . . .”
    Henry didn’t know what to say. He’d never had to worry about money. He’d never had to depend on his body to make a living, and after he’d been wounded in Iraq, he knew he never would. He still missed the physicality of the field hospital but not the cold dread that settled in as soon as the warning Klaxon went