Читать книгу Another Song For Me - Jean Castaing - Страница 7

River View Memorial hospital, where my dad is Chief of Staff, is about as small as hospitals are allowed to be. I don’t know why they called it River View. It’s not anywhere in sight of the Tennessee River or even a respectable stream. And I don’t think Memorial should be part of any hospital’s name.

As soon as we arrived with Oil Can Henri spread out in the back of the truck, I rushed into the empty emergency room. “Help,” I hollered. “We’ve got an almost dead guy outside.”

That’s when the commotion began. Mavis Sorenson, the head nurse, bolted up from behind her desk and looked out the glass doors. I thought her eyeballs might pop out when she spotted Grandpa leaning over the back of the pickup.

“It’s Layton Clayton, Doctor Michaels’s father-in-law,” she screamed.

The huge woman grabbed a wheelchair and literally skidded across the floor. I chased after her. It’s a good thing for automatic doors, because otherwise Mavis would have bounced off the glass and knocked herself senseless. She grabbed Grandpa, flung him into the wheelchair, and was fighting to keep him there, while I tried to pull her off and convince her there was an unconscious man in the truck.

“It’s not Grandpa,” I hollered. “It’s Oil Can. Look.”

Mavis whirled around and stared at me. “Oil Can?”

Grandpa jumped up. “Dang it, Mavis. You trying to kill me?”

She ignored Grandpa’s complaints and immediately hoisted herself up next to Oil Can. She pried an eye open, then felt for his pulse.

“Is he dead yet?” I asked.

The big lady went pale. “Get me a gurney,” she bellowed,

In seconds, two guys in green scrubs had Oil Can on his way to the ER. Grandpa helped Mavis out of the truck, but neither one of them looked happy about it. He fished the prescriptions out of his pocket and crammed them into her hand.

“High blood pressure. Same stuff I take,” he said. “First one’s dated two years ago, and there were no pill bottles in his satchel. Ten to one he’s never had those scrips filled.”

Mavis shook her head and handed me the satchel. “Take this to the desk and check it in.”

After I checked the satchel, I found Grandpa in the waiting room slumped on a sagging leather sofa, sipping a cup of coffee. I sat down and leaned against him. “Do you think Oil Can’s gonna live? He’s been unconscious a long time.”

Grandpa squeezed me. “He’ll pull through. Can’t imagine it’s the first time he’s gotten himself into a mess like this.”

Thinking about the part of my assignment that talked about understanding how a person’s life experiences shaped the way they behave now, I said, “this mess could have happened to anyone, even you.”

“Not a chance. People are responsible for their predicaments.”

“Well he’s different from you. Significantly different,” I said.

Grandpa stood up and swirled his coffee. “Dang stuff goes through a fella like drain cleaner. I’m gonna’ hit the little boy’s room. Meet me outside.”

“No. Someone needs to be with Oil Can when he wakes up. He might be scared.”

Grandpa tapped his watch. “I’ll wait in the truck. Ten minutes. That’s it.”

Since there was no one around to stop me, I stepped behind the green curtain where they had rolled Oil Can’s gurney. He was already hooked up, tubes coming and going from every part of his body. I studied his grimy face and the dirt under his fingernails, and to be truthful; even though I knew he wasn’t dead, I was grossed out at the thought of touching him. But the longer I watched him, the lonelier he seemed. I ran my fingers across the top of his hand, took a deep breath and gripped his hand with both of mine. I hoped maybe he could feel me and know someone was there.

All of a sudden the curtain slid open and the oldest nurse I’d ever laid eyes on stood across from me. Silently, she leaned over Oil Can and clipped a red light to his toe. If she would have cracked a smile she would have shattered her wrinkles. She looked up and asked if I was his daughter. My mouth dropped open. The word “no” barely squeaked out.

“If you’re not a blood relative I must insist that you leave,” she said. “This is a very sick man.”

She waved her hand and swooshed me out of the room. Talk about bossy.

I hurried out to the truck. Grandpa had the windows down and the radio blaring. This time he was rocking out to the Biggest Hits of the Fifties station, which was a good thing. He hadn’t noticed I’d been inside lingering over Oil Can close to thirty minutes. I hopped into the truck and closed my window.

“So did he wake up?” Grandpa asked.

“No. Can we come back tonight?”

Grandpa frowned. “Now listen here, Missy. Nothing good’s going to come from getting yourself involved with this whacko. I can just imagine your mama’s reaction.”

I laughed. “She’ll come unglued.”

“Yeah. And she’ll blame it all on me. Why is he so all fired important to you? He’s just another bum. Yesterday you didn’t know he existed and by next week you’ll have forgotten all about him.”

No I won’t. I’ll never forget about him. It’s like one of those serendipity things. He showed up in my life at this time for a reason. A very important reason.”

Grandpa groaned, then put his arm around me. “Serendipity, serenschnipty. You’re not going to let this thing go, are you?”

I smiled. “Not a chance.”