Page 148 of College Town

“I can handle the curb,” Tommy says, stubbornly, and the jut of his chin says he won’t be swayed. All Lawson can do is hold him up if he starts to fall.

“Alright, curb it is.”

It’s not very tall, at least. Tommy’s cane – one of those fancy, four-footed numbers that folds up into a baton and stands on its own – tap, tap, taps across the damp pavement, and then lifts up to brace on top of the sidewalk that lines the front of the Radisson. Beneath the fabric of his jacket, Lawson can feel the full-body tense and flex of his torso as he takes the step up onto the curb without slowing. It’s an effort, one Lawson can feel inside the circle of his arm, and hear in the slow hiss of Tommy’s exhale. He wobbles, but his legs hold, and Lawson’s only there in case, but doesn’t actually have to support him.

“See?” Tommy rests a minute, on the sidewalk, and looks up at him triumphantly. “I got it.”

Lawson tries, and probably fails to keep his beaming smile in check. He’s so full of pride he feels molten with it. “You do got it.”

Tommy sighs. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Never.” Lawson kisses him so he’ll smile again, and they slowly make their way toward the awning over the lobby door.

~*~

Tommy spent a week in the ICU, high on morphine most of the time, and very sleepy and sluggish during the brief periods of wakefulness. Each time he opened his eyes, he turned his head on the pillow and asked for Lawson. Lawson did his best to be at his side every time with a quiet, “I’m here,” and a squeeze of his hand. Each time Tommy clutched at his fingers, his grip was a little bit stronger.

The third day, he passed through the waiting room on his way to the bathroom and pulled up short when he saw Dana and Mom. Mom had a duffel bag full of clean clothes, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and all the toiletries he’d need for an impromptu sink bath. She didn’t even try to talk him into coming home for a shower, a proper meal, and a nap, only pulled him into her arms and held him while he fell apart for a minute.

“The doctor said he’s going to be okay.”

“He is,” Lawson choked out, but that didn’t stem the tide of backed-up emotion. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been home. You and Dad–”

“Are doing just fine,” she assured, rubbing his back. “Don’t worry about us right now.”

Dana had brought a bag of takeout from Flanagan’s, a greasy cheeseburger and onion rings, and a whole mess of Little Debbie, Swiss Rolls, and Oatmeal Cream Pies, and, best of all: Cosmic Brownies.

“Hey, killer,” she greeted, and then her eyes bugged when he had aslight, wheezy panic attack aboutthat.

Dana came back the next day, alone, and forced him to sit outside on a bench and eat the Chinese she’d brought and tell her what the hell was going on. “The police interviewed me,” she said, pointedly, when he hesitated, and he did owe her, after all the help she’d given his parents. The whole, unbelievable story spilled out between bites of chicken fried rice, and Dana was pale and big-eyed by the end of it.

“Shit,” she said. “Jesus.”

“That was my reaction, yeah.”

“What happens now?”

“I dunno.”

What happened was that Lawson was invited into an empty patient room with Superintendent Thurston and a dour-faced detective named Small, and he told his version of events to a tape recorder. They assured him he wasn’t in trouble, but asked him not to leave town in case they had any follow-up questions.

He didn’t say:why the hell would I leave town when everything important is right here?

A week after he was wheeled in on a gurney, Tommy was moved to a regular room, and stood up on his own two feet for the first time.

Well. With some help.

Lawson hovered several paces back from the bed, hands itching to touch, to help, while two nurses put down the rail, helped Tommy swing his legs over the side of the bed, and tugged little blue grippy socks over his feet. Each one took an arm, and together they slowly helped him upright.

Tommy grinned hugely when he got his feet under him, and was supporting his own weight. He looked up at Lawson, and said, “I–”

Then he tried to take a step and his leg jerked clumsily.

Lawson rushed forward, but the nurses had expected this. They were strong, and competent, and they kept Tommy from falling. The way Tommy’s face fell broke Lawson’s heart.

“You’ve got some nerve damage,” Dr. Patel said, matter-of-factly, when she came by later. “The spinal cord is intact, but some of the nerves that provide sensation to your lower extremities were damaged by the gunshots. Do you have any pain in your legs and feet? Numbness?”

Tommy was sitting up in bed, arms folded, sullen. “Numbness,” he admitted, grudgingly. “And a little pain.”

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