Fear itself

2

“Simon?”

Simon awoke, stiff and sore from a night in the uncomfortable burnt-orange side chair, and looked up at the clock on the wall. Quarter to six. He pushed himself up from the chair, stretched, crossed the room to Missy’s bedside, stroked the broad forehead tenderly, patted the back of her swollen wrist. She was badly sunburned, except for the elongated bluish white circles around her eyes, where her sunglasses had protected her.

“How you feeling, sis?”

“Thirsty.”

Simon glanced around. Every hospital room he’d ever seen had a pitcher of ice water on the bedside table. Not this one, though. What’s the matter with these people? he thought angrily, snatching up the call button and mashing it repeatedly with his thumb like a frustrated Jeopardy contestant. A thousand bucks a day and they can’t afford a glass of water?

“Yes?” A few minutes later the elderly night nurse popped her head through the doorway.

“My sister’s thirsty-could we get some ice water in here?”

“Sorry, no can do.”

As the old bat brushed by him to check Missy’s vitals and plump her pillow-all the little as-long-as-I’m-here-anyway nursing attentions-Simon caught a whiff of stale sweat. It didn’t seem right, somehow-nurses weren’t supposed to smell. He rose and pushed his chair back. “What do you mean, ‘no can do’?”

“Fluid retention. Doctor has her on a diuretic-the orders are no liquids by mouth until we get the edema down.”

Simon grabbed her by the arm, just above the elbow. She glared up at him; he glared back until he saw a flicker of fear, then released her. “Look here, I won’t have my sister suffering.”

“I’ll…I’ll bring some ice chips for her to suck on and some glycerine for her lips.”

“Would you?” said Simon, as pleasantly as an alcoholic who’s just had a much-needed nip. “We’d really appreciate it.” He turned back to Missy. “Ice chippos coming right upski.”

“Simon, I want to go home.”

“I’m going to be talking to Dr. Yo later this morning. Let’s see what she has to say, first.” The nurse returned; Simon took the carafe from her, held a sliver to Missy’s sunburned lips.

Missy didn’t have the strength to throw a tantrum-pitching a royal, Simon called it-but there were other approaches; when it came to getting her way, Missy’s IQ was in the genius range. Much as she wanted that ice, she turned her head away. “Home.”

“Honey, your poor lips, they’re all cracked and-”

“Home.”

“I’ll talk to Dr. Yo as soon as-”

“Home.”

Home. It took a few hours to work out the details, sign the waivers Dr. Yo required before she would discharge her patient, arrange for round-the-clock private nursing, then rush home to be there before the Home-Med techs arrived to set up the hospital bed in the living room (no stairs for Missy-Dr. Yo had been quite insistent on that point). None of it came cheap, but it was worth every penny-by noon, Missy and her day-shift nurse were playing Candy Land in the living room, and Simon, at long last, was free to visit the basement. By his reckoning, close to twenty-four hours had passed since Dorie had broken her nose. She ought to be ready for a game by now, Simon told himself. He certainly was.