Cat On The Scent

61

Harry and Miranda sat on two chairs next to Blair's bed. Each woman had visited him two and three times a day since his shooting.

“Is any memory coming back at all?” Miranda politely inquired.

“No,” he truthfully replied. “But the doctor said bits and pieces may come back to me. Then again, I may never remember. The last thing I remember—and it's so stupid—is I heard a car come up the driveway. I opened the back screened door and I tripped. Just took a mistep. That's all I can remember.”

“You must be tired of everyone asking you.” Harry smiled. “You look good.”

“I feel pretty good. The swelling is down. Doc wants me to wait a few more days to be certain. I'll tell you what's driving me crazy.” He pointed to the bandages on his head. “My scalp itches like poison ivy. I can't scratch it.”

“Means it's healing.” Miranda patted his hand. “You'll be back to good health in no time. Thank you, Jesus.” She closed her eyes in fervent prayer.

“Yes. I have been very lucky.” Blair's eyes misted. “Thank God for you, Harry.”

“You've thanked me enough already.” Harry warmly smiled.

“And Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker.” Blair smiled broadly.

“Yes.” Harry hadn't told him or anyone the full extent of their efforts. She knew no one would believe her.

“Maybe it's better not to remember. You and Archie had been friends.” Miranda assumed Blair's attacker had been Archie.

“I just don't know, Miranda. I don't know if it's better to know or not to know and there's not much I can do about it. I'm just so grateful to be alive.” He stopped as his eyes filled with tears, and Harry's and Miranda's eyes filled also.