Time Off for Good Behavior (2 page)

***

It took me a while to recognize the hospital room for what it was when I woke up. At first, everything was a pale blur, and as my vision returned, the pieces came at me individually. The tall swivel tray sitting by my bed. The IV pole at my sid
e. The framed poster of a generic landscape. The window with Venetian blinds hanging halfway down. I took it all in, unalarmed, too groggy to put the pieces together and panic properly.

A rhythmic squeaking noise grew louder and paused, and then the door o
pened. A nurse in pink scrubs entered, carrying an IV bag filled with clear fluid. She hummed the theme to
Green Acres
as she puttered around the room, and didn
’
t notice I was awake and watching her until she finished switching the bags on the IV pole.

“
Oh
, Miss Lane!
”
she said brightly, her southern accent dripping with honey.
“
It
’
s good to have you back.
”

She had the largest smile I
’
d ever seen. It took over her entire face, her eyes barely showing under the pressure from her massive cheeks. I opened my m
outh to say something, but only a harsh whispered
“
Unnnnhhh
”
came out through the sandpaper in my throat.

“
Oh, honey,
”
she said, putting her warm hand on my arm.
“
Don
’
t try to talk yet. Give yourself a minute to adjust.
”

She reached over and pulled the bla
nkets up farther on my torso, making me feel like a preschooler at nap time.

She smiled again.
“
Miss Lane... May I call you Wanda?
”
I gave her a small nod, which I immediately regretted as a sharp pain hatcheted its way through my skull. The panic began to
form then, dull and throbbing in my gut. The nurse must have caught it in my expression because her smile waned enough for me to see the concern in her eyes, and she gave my arm a comforting squeeze.

“
Now, Wanda, I know it
’
s kinda scary waking up in a hos
pital, but you
’
re gonna be just fine, and my mama didn
’
t raise no liars, so don
’
t you worry.
”
She bit her lip and looked around the empty room.
“
Is there anyone you
’
d like me to call for you, honey?
”

I blinked and made a slight
“
no
”
movement with my head.
There was no one.

“
Okay.
”
Her smile reappeared, tighter this time. That
’
s how people who have someone tend to react to people who have no one. She tucked a call button remote into my hand.
“
Well, my name is Vera, and I
’
m your nurse, so if you ever need any
thing, you just hit this button and I
’
ll come running, okay?
”

I didn
’
t want to risk the sandpaper, but I desperately wanted some water, so I flitted my eyes from the cup and pitcher sitting on the swivel tray back to Vera as she talked, hoping she would ta
ke the hint before the movement made my head explode. She followed my eyes to the pitcher.

“
Oh, honey, did you want some water?
”

I gave her a small, grateful smile. She nibbled on her lip.
“
Well, darlin
’
, it
’
s been a while since you
’
ve had anything in your
tummy. I
’
m gonna go get Dr. Harland
—
he
’
ll be so glad to hear you
’
re awake
—
and we
’
ll just see if he says it
’
s okay, all right?
”
With that, Vera and her tremendous smile squeak-squeak-squeaked out of the room. I blinked twice and looked around again, trying
to gain control of my focus, but it wasn
’
t worth the pain of keeping my eyes open, so I closed them and leaned back into my pillow. My arms and legs felt like deadweights, and while I could move them, anything exceeding a slight shift was more trouble th
a
n it was worth. There was a familiar tune playing, probably coming from the radio at the nurses
’
station, and I tried to concentrate on it, but it faded away before I could place it. I thought about the cup and pitcher on the tray next to my bed, but unle
s
s I developed some telekinetic ability in the next few minutes, I
’
d have to wait for Vera and the good doctor.

The door opened, and a short man in a white coat came in, with Vera squeak-squeaking behind him. The doctor smiled, sat on the side of my bed, an
d put his hand on my arm. It was warm.
“
Hi, Wanda. I
’
m Dr. Harland.
”

Vera stood behind Dr. Harland and didn
’
t catch my meaningful glances toward the water pitcher this time. I gave up and listened to the doctor.

“
We
’
re glad to see you awake,
”
he said. He w
as a tiny man with dark skin and deep-set eyes. He couldn
’
t have been more than forty, but smile lines radiated from his eyes and curved around the edges of his mouth like cheerful parentheses. I can handle cranky people, and I can handle antisocial peopl
e
, but smiley people always put me on edge. In my experience, they tend to be irritating or crazy. Often both.

Dr. Harland explained my condition to me. Apparently, the cheap Berber carpeting in the courtroom was laid directly on top of a cement floor, with
no padding. Shocker. The sickening clunk had been the sound of my skull fracturing, and I had ended up with a concussion and some swelling of the brain. I had been in a light coma for five days. I would be on painkillers for a week or so and would probab
l
y experience some headaches, but overall I was a very lucky woman. I found the strength to nod, showing him I understood, but my mind stuck on the word
lucky.
Just went to show what he knew.

Dr. Harland squeezed my arm.
“
I
’
m gonna go, let you get a little
rest, but I
’
ll be back in to check on you in a little while, and then we
’
ll start on that recovery, okay?
”

I gave another brief nod. Pain radiated through my head. He flashed me one cheerful smile and left. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the pillow
. The room started to spin. I opened my eyes again, and Vera was standing by my bed, sticking a bendy straw in the water.
“
Dr. Harland told me we could try some water. You ready, honey?
”

I parted my lips and drank. The first few sips went well, but I soon
learned that it
’
s a bad idea to introduce anything quickly to a stomach that has been empty for five days, and I started to gag. Vera reached for the bedpan with practiced ease, and I proceeded to make a sterling first impression.

“
Aw, honey,
”
she said whe
n I was done.
“
Don
’
t you worry. We
’
ll just give that a try again later, okay?
”

I tried to give another tiny nod but found just enough strength to rest my head back on the pillow. As it turned out, skull fractures hurt like a mother.

“
You get a little more
sleep, honey, and I
’
ll be back to check in on you in just a little bit.
”
She reached up and checked my IV, then gave my arm another gentle squeeze and winked at me, her eyes succumbing to another tremendous grin.
“
And don
’
t you worry about a thing.
”

She sq
ueak-squeaked through the door, and I was alone. I sank back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling. The familiar tune wafted back into the room, and I fell asleep trying to place it.

***

“
I
’
m fine, George. Really. Fine.
”
I held the phone away from my
ear and leaned back on the pillows, thanking God for each and every one of the five thousand miles between Tennessee and Alaska.

“
I
’
m gonna take off work. Come down and see you.
”
George
’
s voice was competing with pay phone static and the sounds of oil wor
kers passing through the hallways of the compound where they lived while they were on the slope.
“
I
’
ll get a job down there. I
’
ll take care of you. We can start a family, get a small house with a fireplace. Just like you always wanted. Come on, baby.
”

“
We
’
re divorced, George. Don
’
t call me baby.
”
I put my hand to my forehead. My headache was raging.

“
But I love you,
”
he said. His voice was quiet. My stomach was turning. I looked at the phone cradle as the chorus in my head sang,
Hang up, hang up, hang up.

“
Look, George, I
’
m fine. I
’
m getting out of the hospital soon, and I
’
m going back to work. I really don
’
t have time for a visit.
”

Silence. Silence was never a good sign with George. It could mean anything. He could be crumpling under the emotional strain. H
e could be plotting to kill me. Anything was possible.

“
Stay in Alaska,
”
I said finally.
“
Please. I
’
m fine.
”

The door to my room opened. A tall guy in a suit gave me a tentative smile from the doorway. He had lawyer written all over him, but I was willing
to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was from the local Bible college, visiting the hospitalized friendless, doing his Good Samaritan deed
du jour
.

“
George, I have to go. Don
’
t come down here. I
’
m sorry they even called you.
”
The last time I
’
d be
en in Hastings General, George and I were still married, and I
’
d put his information down on the
“
in case of emergency contact
”
sheet. A decision, like so many others, that was coming back to haunt me.

“
Baby, I love you. I
’
ve been going crazy up here, not
knowing if you were okay. I need to see you.
”

I sighed. My stomach knotted up. Time to pull out the big guns.
“
George, the restraining order is still in effect. If you show up here, you
’
ll go to jail.
”
I looked up and gave a
“
What are you gonna do?
”
eye ro
ll to the guy, whose tentative smile went swiftly south.

There was a frustrated huff, something that sounded like
bitch
, and then the line went dead.
He wont come
, I told myself. The last thing George wanted was another run-in with the Tennessee cops, who
didn
’
t have much patience for outsiders with attitude problems. He was still wanted on a DUI and an unregistered-weapons charge; the restraining order merely sealed the deal that would keep him out of the state. I put the phone down and pressed my fingert
i
ps against my temples.