“No. I came around the curve at Soldier Road, just before Roger’s Corner. Next thing I knew, I heard a pop, something hit me, and the windshield crinkled into a thousand tiny pieces.” He blinked in rapid succession for a few seconds. “It took a minute for me to know I’d been shot. It kind of delayed the pain, I mean.”
“Thank God for safety glass, or you’d be cut up.” Sister cared deeply for Sam.
“Hope it was the last of the deer hunters. Thought I’d put most of my enemies behind me.” He smiled ruefully. He sat up, winced, dropped back. “Car’s trashed. I…”
Gray butted in. “I don’t care about the car.”
Walter smiled. “That’s what insurance companies are for.”
Gray murmured, “Well, brother, what else is tore up?”
“Knee.”
Walter spoke reassuringly, “The patella’s fine, bruised. We can drain the fluid off. Sam wasn’t eager to allow any procedures done to his perfect body,” Walter remarked with humor. “But Sam, your knee will swell even more. Let’s take care of it. The needle feels like a big hornet sting, but it doesn’t last long.”
“It’ll go down.” Sam was defiant.
“Sam, trust me. Drain the knee now. I can understand you feel you’ve had enough for one night, but the knee will hurt worse than your broken rib.”
“Do like he says.” Gray squeezed Sam’s hand.
“Birds in your hand,” Sam said sharply.
“Sorry.” Gray released the pressure.
“What?” Walter didn’t understand.
“When we were kids, Peter Wheeler used to tell us when we’d hold the reins too tightly, ‘Little birds in your hands. Don’t squeeze them to death.’”
“I can ride with a bum knee. Plenty of people do.”
“Yes, you can.” Walter smiled at Sam. “Running will hurt. And if you jump, landing will be a bitch. Sooner or later, Sam, you’ll need to have the knee scoped. It’s probably a torn ACL.”
“It can wait.”
“It can, but since you have your brother here and Sister, come on—let’s drain the knee.”
Sam sank deeper into the pillow. He didn’t want to look like a chicken. Truth was he hurt, he was shaken, and he hated needles. On the other hand, get it over with, because Walter wasn’t going to give up.
“All right,” Sam grimly agreed.
“Be back in a minute.” Walter walked out to the nurses’ station, had them call Margaret DuCharme, and apprised her of the situation.
Within five minutes she arrived, along with a thin nurse who carried a porcelain kidney-shaped bowl. A long, long needle was in the bowl with a towel over it. She also carried a small packet of ice in a padded circle that would conform to the knee.
“Can you sit up and dangle your legs over the side of the bed?” Margaret asked. “I’ll put a chair under your feet, if you need it.”
Gray helped Sam sit upright.
The bullet’s path stung, his rib ached, and his knee throbbed. He closed his eyes.
“I’ve seen worse,” Margaret said reassuringly.
“Dr. DuCharme, I don’t want to cuss,” Sam said, which made her laugh.
“I don’t either. This won’t be the worst pain you’ve ever felt, Sam, but you will feel it. I’m going to stick this needle in and draw off the fluid. Then we’ll pack this ice band around your knee. You’ll be surprised at how quickly you’ll feel relief. Ready?”
Sister stood to the side, placing her hand on Sam’s shoulder. Not squeamish, she was nonetheless glad that long needle wasn’t being plunged into her knee.
Sam stiffened.
As Walter and Margaret promised, it was over in a minute.
Both doctors looked at the clear light yellowish fluid. Some blood was in it, which they know was consistent with a torn ligament.
The nurse wiggled the ice bracelet up to his knee. “There you go.”
“That’s it?” Sam’s cheeks sported a gray tinge.
“That’s it,” Margaret smiled. “I’ll check on you tomorrow. You’re tough as nails, Sam Lorillard. Always were.”
“Family trait,” Gray said as he and Walter helped Sam swivel back to rest on the pillow.
“Sam, I know you don’t like drugs, but that wound is going to throb. Your knee shouldn’t hurt as much as it did before draining. Let me give you a mild sedative. You need a good night’s sleep.” Walter’s deep voice soothed.
“No. No drugs.” Sam pressed his lips together.
“Sam, you aren’t going to get hooked. We monitor those things,” Walter reassured him.
“With all due respect, Walter, my body chemistry…well, let’s just say if there’s any kind of downer, booze, or narcotic, I crave it. I fought too hard to get where I am. I’d rather deal with the pain.”
“Can he take aspirin?” Sister asked.
“Yes.” Walter admired Sam’s desire to stay straight, although he felt he could control the situation.
As Margaret reached the door Jason Woods walked in. There was a moment, a slight tension, as they acknowledged one another. Margaret left and Jason entered.
“Sam, heard you escaped an invitation to heaven,” he joked.
“Might have been the other place.” The exhaustion had begun to show on Sam.
“Very possible.” Jason smiled, then spoke to Gray. “He has friends here, Gray. He’ll be all right. Why don’t you go home?”
“No, I’ll spend the night.”
“We’d like to keep him for at least two days, but I expect we’ll be lucky if we can keep him for one.” Walter resigned himself to Sam’s determination.
Sister kissed Sam on the cheek as he nodded off. She kissed Gray. “Can I bring anything back for you?”
“No thanks.” Gray kissed her again. “We’ll both be up and out of here come morning. I’ll be fine. You go on home. I’ll call Crawford about this so that’s taken care of.”
She walked outside with the two doctors.
“What a crazy damn thing,” Jason murmured.
“Yes.” Walter motioned for Sister to wait a moment as Jason returned to his rounds.
Walter leaned against the wall. “Sam got any old enemies left?”
“I don’t know, I expect.”
“The path of the bullet doesn’t lead me to believe it was a stray shot. Someone waited by the road and fired right when he came round.”
“He was in Gray’s car. Maybe they wanted to kill Gray.” Sister felt a ripple of fear pass through her as she leveled her eyes on Walter’s.
“Jesus.”
“We need Him now.”
CHAPTER 14
You look like the dogs got at you under the porch.” Iffy, carrying a file folder while using one cane, walked into Gray’s temporary office.
“Spent the night in the hospital.”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine. Tired.” Gray noticed her quizzical expression. “Sam was in a car accident.” He held back the small detail that Sam had been shot. He was tired and didn’t feel like indulging in speculation with people who weren’t close.
“Oh, no; he didn’t fall off the wagon?” Iffy exclaimed without thinking.
Gray shrugged. “Skidded off the road. He’s home. Banged up, but”—Gray motioned for her to sit, which she declined—“all right.” He half-smiled. “He couldn’t get out of that hospital fast enough.”
“I’m sorry.” She handed the folder to him. “Hanson Office Supplies. First quarter.” She paused. “Sometimes I keep things in my office instead of putting them in the central files. Going up and down steps is hard sometimes. Oh, is Freddie coming in?”
“At three every afternoon. We’re lucky to get her. Her business is booming; but she likes Garvey and understands the situation.”
“M-m-m.” Iffy tossed her head. “I wouldn’t want to be self-employed. Too Iffy.” She smiled at her joke.
Gray smiled, too, then said, “The company doesn’t pay any bills by automatic draft, does it?”
“No. We receive an invoice for every service or bill, and I cut the checks once a month.”
“All right, then.” He nodded, and she left.