Dr. Brady pointed towards Owen’s closed door. “He asked to be left alone. That was half an hour ago.”
Sheriff Mobley gently rapped his knuckles on the counter and winked at his old friend. “Give me a little time. Maybe he needs a sounding board.”
He walked to Owen’s room and stared through the small glass window in the door. Tucker was sitting in the wheelchair, staring at his father’s face. Sheriff Mobley slowly turned the knob and cracked the door enough for his head to fit through.
“Hey, Tucker. Can I come in?”
Tucker sat up in the wheelchair and took a deep breath before exhaling. “Yeah, sure.”
First, Sheriff Mobley asked Tucker how he was feeling. He complimented him on how much better he looked since they’d met when Tucker woke up for the first time. Then he walked around to the opposite side of the hospital bed and studied Owen’s face. He grimaced and then allowed a slight smile.
“Your dad’s a helluva fighter. What he did to protect himself saved his life.”
“Yeah,” mumbled Tucker, whose attention turned to Owen’s feet. “My mom’s still out, and the doctor said it’s too dangerous to wake her up right now.”
Sheriff Mobley came around the bed and sat in the chair vacated by Dr. Brady earlier. “That’s what I hear. She’s gonna pull through, Tucker, if her body is allowed to heal itself.”
Tucker sighed and rolled his head around his shoulders to relieve some tension. “This really sucks, you know.”
The sheriff nodded. He gently patted Tucker on the back. “Ya wanna talk about it?”
Tucker shrugged. “I guess. Might as well. I mean…” His voice trailed off as he pushed himself up and grasped his father’s bed rails.
“Shouldn’t you be sitting—?”
Tucker ignored the question and allowed his thoughts to pour out of him. “I’ve got some really crappy options,” he began. He rubbed his hands along the rail, gripping it for comfort and strength as he spoke.
“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” interrupted Sheriff Mobley, giving Tucker a moment to gather his thoughts.
“Okay, well. My mom’s in this sort of long sleep, coma thing that I’m told isn’t serious. However, it’s necessary for her recovery, so they aren’t comfortable waking her because of brain damage.
“Dad’s legs were left exposed to the flash freeze. Dr. Brady said he has the worst kind of frostbite from his calves to his toes. Basically, everything from the bottom of the knees down is dead.
“The problem is his legs need to be amputated because his body is spending too much effort to save the legs and not enough to heal the rest of his organs. Their solution is to amputate and focus on saving his life.”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” added the sheriff, allowing Tucker to catch his breath.
“Well, Mom can’t make the decision, and they want me to.” He turned to Sheriff Mobley. “Do you hear what I’m saying? They want me to approve cutting off my father’s legs.”
Tucker closed his eyes and began shaking his head side to side. Tears flowed out of his eyes as he imagined being responsible for his father’s inability to walk.
Sheriff Mobley looked away briefly as he tried to avoid crying along with Tucker. He felt a deep sadness for the teen, who was faced with such an important decision alone. He gathered himself and joined Tucker’s side. The father of four placed his arm around Tucker and spoke in a softer tone. “Sometimes, life throws us a curveball. It’s not fair, and we’re left to deal with it regardless of how old we are.”
Tucker nodded. “Dr. Brady says that if we amputate, Dad has a better chance to live. If they don’t, we could lose him soon. Maybe even today.”
Sheriff Mobley let out an audible gasp. He hadn’t heard that from Dr. Brady. But then again, this decision had been looming over the medical team for more than a day.
Tucker continued. “He says that even if we don’t amputate, the potential gangrene or infection could take his entire leg, basically confining him to a wheelchair forever. At least with the lower legs only being removed, they can fit him with prosthetics that will allow him to walk. Maybe even hike and stuff.”
The two of them continued to stare at Owen. “And a better chance of recovery, right?”
Tucker chuckled and nodded. Finally, somebody had associated the word recovery with his dad’s condition.
“No guarantees, of course. He was pretty definite about what would happen if Dr. Forrest doesn’t amputate.”
Sheriff Mobley stepped away from Tucker slightly so he could gauge his reaction. “What would your father do if the roles were reversed?”
Tucker laughed. “He’d Google it. Well, I mean, he’d Yahoo it since that’s where he works. Somehow, Yahooing something never caught on like Googling did. Anyway, he’d weigh the options and then make a decision.”
“And what do you think it would be?”
Tucker jutted out his chin and smiled at his father. “He’d rather have three-quarters of me than none at all.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Friday, November 1
Driftwood Key
Jessica and Mike were like two ships passing in the night. She returned from her shift driving one of the county’s surplus Ford F-250 pickups. The vehicle wasn’t recognized by Jimmy as it eased across the bridge toward the front gate, so Jessica stopped well short of the entry and turned off the headlights. She shouted at Jimmy to stand down. Mike, who was preparing to exit the key for work, immediately recognized her voice.
She pulled through the gate onto the key, and the married couple spent a few moments together before Mike left. He already expected a long night, as he’d volunteered to work the blockades at the toll bridge. He wanted to see for himself whether they were secure and what kind of crowds had amassed on the Homestead side of the bridge.
“The sheriff and the mayor spent most of the afternoon and evening huddled up in the Islamorada office,” said Jessica after the two broke their embrace. “It was a hot topic among any governmental personnel she encountered, and the coconut telegraph was all abuzz.” The phrase was an oft-used term paying homage to a song performed by Jimmy Buffett, “Coconut Telegraph,” referring to a rumor mill in the islands.
“I can only imagine,” said Mike as he shook his head. He held his wife’s hand as they leaned against the truck and enjoyed the silence of the evening except for the random ticking sound coming from the Ford’s hot engine. “Any idea what they’re up to?”
Jessica sighed. “Supposedly the mayor wants more cops on the street. Residents are complaining about the huge uptick in home invasions each day. The sheriff says his manpower is stretched thin because of the checkpoints at the bridges.”
“I feel a demand for working longer hours coming.”
Jessica nodded. “That’s part of the solution. The other suggestion by the mayor was to deputize a bunch of people. She wants warm bodies.”
“Armed, too?” asked Mike.
“I assume. You and I both know that the investigation of these types of crimes will never happen. Heck, you can’t even spend time tracking down the only serial killer in Florida Keys history.”
“No shit. Listen, I understand we all have competing interests here. The mayor wants people to feel safe in their homes, and the sheriff is trying to minimize the number of potential criminals on our streets by eliminating the nonresidents. The unknowns, as he calls them.”
Jessica walked away from the truck and shrugged. “Well, I hope he deputizes the knowns because, otherwise, we could find ourselves working alongside someone with a gun who doesn’t know how the damn thing works.”