Page 8 of Smuggler's Cove
Uncle George pulled in front of a police station, and Jackson asked, “Are we there?” It was the first he had spoken since his sandwich.
“Not yet, honey. Mommy must get our car first.”
“Where is it?” Jackson asked.
“I am going to find out. I’ll be right back.”
George offered to go in. “Let me handle this. You wait here.”
Before Rita could protest, George got out of the car and up the short stone steps. Several minutes later, he reappeared, holding up a set of keys.
Rita let the oxygen out of her lungs. “What about the bond?” she asked.
“Let’s not worry about that now. Let’s get the car. It’s just around the corner,” George explained, and drove them to the impound.
Once again George left Rita and Jackson in his car until he could square things with the guard and reclaim the vehicle. Rita looked on as the guard pointed to their mangled auto. She gasped when she saw the front end and the shattered windshield. She got out of the vehicle, and her hands flew up to her face.
“Oh, George. I can’t drive this thing.”
“You’ll take my car, and I’ll find someone who can fix this. I’m sure the guard can recommend a place.”
Tears started rolling down her face for the third time in the past twenty-four hours.Why was this happening to her? She should have stayed at her sister’s. Now Jackson will see the smashup his father caused.
“Mommy? Why does the car look like that?”
“Oh, honey. That was from the accident your father had.”
Jackson’s eyes went wide. “Wow.” That was the closest thing to an emotion he expressed. Then he went back to brooding.
Rita turned to face him as she blotted the tears.
“Why do you keep crying?” he asked, pouting.
“Because, well, a lot of things have happened, and I’m a little upset. I don’t want you to worry. Everything is going to be alright.”
Jackson shrugged. He wasn’t convinced. Before they left for Aunt Betty’s, things didn’t seem alright at home. Now they were back.
George returned to his automobile. “The guy has someone who he thinks can patch this up in a day or two. Drive this to the hospital. As soon as I get some information, I’ll look for you there.”
The hospital was several blocks away, and Rita drove as slowly as possible without coming to a complete halt. There was a sign for visitor parking in the front. She asked Jackson to roll up the windows, and then she opened the rear door. She took his hand, and they walked to the main entrance. A woman in a nun’s habit greeted them.
“Hello. I’m Sister Theresa. How can I help you?”
“Hello. Ny name is Rita Taylor. My husband was admitted two nights ago.”
The sister pushed up her reading glasses that hung at the tip of her nose and began to check the patient information log. She frowned. “He is in a special ward.”
“What kind of a special ward?”
The nun looked hesitant and eyed the little boy.
“Does that mean we don’t get to see him? I drove all the way from Barnegat. The doctor told me I had to come.” Rita tried valiantly to remain calm. “Something about paperwork.” She took a huge breath and let it out.
“Give me a minute, please.” The nun walked from behind the desk and disappeared down a hallway as Jackson looked on with curiosity.
“Is she going to get Dad?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. Maybe a doctor.”
