Page 80 of Single-Minded
“Drunk driver,” I say. “They brought you here last night. Your dad and Santiago have been here all night. Santiago just went to your house to get you a few things. He’ll be back soon.”
“Did you tell everybody what to do, harangue the doctors, redecorate the place?” he asks.
“I see your sense of humor fared better than your spleen,” I say. “I brought you your pillow. Maybe I should take it back,” I tease.
“Thank you,” he says, his eyes misty. “I wouldn’t be me without you.”
“Ditto,” I say. I might not be Michael’s wife anymore, but we’ll always be family.
“How’s my hair?” he cracks.
I give him the once-over. “You’re such a TV nerd. Never let it be said that you weren’t born to be in front of a camera. You know, you don’t have a scratch on your face. Not one. How is that even possible? And who gets into a life-threating accident without even messing up his hair?”
He smiles. “I can’t move my arms, but at least my hair looks good.”
“At least.” I laugh. “And on the plus side, I think you’re a shoo-in for that big anchor job. Those guys don’t need to move their arms, right?”
Fred stirs from the corner.
“You’re finally awake, pal. How are you feeling?” He rises and stands on the other side of Michael’s bed.
“Sore,” Michael says. “But glad you’re here.”
“You scared me there for a while,” says Fred, smiling, his eyes welling up with tears. “Try not to do that again.”
“I’ll do my level best,” says Michael. He begins coughing and I hold the cup of water to his lips again. He takes another sip. “Thank you.”
There’s a soft knock at the door, and then Darcy, Sam, Carter, and Santiago enter the room. Darcy is carrying a small green vase filled with white roses.
“Do you think Michael remembered me in his will?” cracks Darcy. She fills up every room she enters with her personality and presence.
“No, he’s leaving it all to me,” Carter laughs. “Except for that terrible red chaise. You can have that.”
“Nobody wants that ugly thing.” Sam laughs too.
“Oh good, you’re alive,” Darcy says to Michael. She sets down the flowers on the bedside table, leans over the bed, and kisses Michael on the cheek. “There’s still time to change your will.” Carter pats the top of Michael’s head gently, and Santiago sets down the overnight bag he’s carrying on the floor near the window, and then plants a kiss on Michael’s forehead.
“The gang’s all here,” says Michael, smiling weakly as we crowd around the bed.
“You’re the most attractive near-death patient I’ve ever seen,” remarks Darcy. “What did you do, call for hair and makeup the moment you got out of surgery?”
I laugh out loud. Michael and Carter do too.
“You look like a soap opera star or something,” she says.
“Do you need anything?” asks Fred.
“I’ve got everything I need right here,” Michael says.
There’s another knock on the hospital door, and a volunteer enters, awkwardly carrying a very large basket. She’s about seventy, no more than five feet tall, with curly white hair and hot-pink jogging shoes. The basket is almost bigger than she is.
“We’re going to need a bigger room,” cracks Darcy. Carter takes the oversize basket from her arms and sets it down on the table.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Carter says.
The basket is overflowing with food: long sandwiches wrapped in paper and tied with raffia, tall containers of salads, napkins, silverware, and small plates, all beautifully displayed.
“Who’s it from?” asks Darcy, digging through the basket. “This looks amazing.”
