20

IPICKED UP the envelopes just as John, still chuckling, came over to help. “It’s not funny, damn it,” I said, but proceeded to disprove that by laughing myself. I managed to creep back up into a standing position with his support.

He was good enough to gather up my pens, notebooks, hairbrush, wallet, and other assorted items that had spread across the floor.

“What?” he said with mock surprise. “Where the hell could that lipstick have gone to? And where did that mascara go?”

“I only wear makeup on Holy Days of Obligation and you know it.”

“Your religion must not have had a feast day since the Flood.”

“Since before the Flood.”

“You okay now?”

“Yes, thanks, John.”

He walked off, still snickering. I opened the letter from the Global Guru. The familiar letterhead proclaimed, “Peace, Love and Understanding Through Travel.” The Global Guru was Fred Barnes to those of us who knew him in high school. Poor old Fred just never got over the sixties. I could picture him in his bell-bottoms and beads, burning incense in the travel agency.

The strange part was that, for all the trappings, he was a real wheeler-dealer. He could find low fares going anywhere, anytime. He knew his stuff-so I guess he was a sort of a guru. He actually had a pretty-decent-sized client list. O’Connor said he liked going to Fred because Fred had flair. In that way, he was much like all the people O’Connor went to for services, a little oddball but highly capable.

The envelope contained a single round-trip ticket for a flight to Phoenix, Arizona, on Thursday-tomorrow morning. The letter explained that a rental car would be waiting there for O’Connor, and that if he changed his mind and decided to stay overnight, he should give Fred a call to arrange lodging.

A trip to a sunny border state, with an Hispanic population. And some high fluoride levels. I reached for the phone and dialed Fred.

“Global Guru, Shalom.”

“Specials on Israel this month, Fred?”

“Irene? Oh, Irene. I’m so sorry about O’Connor. He was a true human being. I know he’s around here, watching all of us and having a laugh, but I will miss him. I wonder what he’ll come back as? Something inquisitive. Did you know I just mailed some tickets to him?”

“Yes, I’ve got them. That’s why I called.”

“Oh?”

“Did he tell you why he was going to Phoenix?”

“He wasn’t going to Phoenix,” he said. “I mean, he wasn’t staying there. That was just the closest spot with an airport.”

“Where was he going from Phoenix?”

“I was afraid you’d ask that. Well, let’s see. It’s a funny name, something to do with lizards, I think…”

“He was going somewhere to do a story about lizards?” My hopes momentarily sank.

“No, no, no! Oh, I see what you mean! Oh, no. Not about lizards, I mean the name of the town has something to do with lizards. Iguana? No, no iguanas. Oh, now I remember-Gila monsters!”

“Gila monsters?”

“No, the name of the town is Gila Bend. Gila Bend, Arizona. Near the Gila River. Yes, that’s it.”

I thought about the list MacPherson had given us. I was almost positive Gila Bend was on it. “Did he tell you anything more?”

“No, just that he had to see someone in Gila Bend. He wanted a flight in and out of Phoenix for the same day, no overnight stay.”

“You’re sure about Gila Bend?”

“Yes. No doubt about it.”

“Thanks, Fred.”

“Irene? Are you going to be using the tickets? Or should I refund them?”

I thought about this. “I’m not sure. Can I let you know by this evening?”

“Sure, that’s cool. Just let me know, okay?” He gave me his home number and told me that he could make changes in the tickets from his home computer.

“I appreciate this. Take care, Fred.”

“Peace.”

Poor Fred, flair or no flair, he had missed all the interesting parts of the last couple of decades. I was trying to remember what these were when my stomach growled and reminded me to go to lunch.

Before leaving, I made a quick call to Pete Baird to tell him about the tickets and have him check MacPherson’s list. Yes, Gila Bend was on it. Yes, it was one of the highlighted places on the list. Pete told me he would call the sheriff in Gila Bend after lunch-maybe someone was expecting O’Connor. I hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment, wondering about Gila Bend and what O’Connor might have been up to there.

“What have you found out?” It was Lydia. She had walked up without my noticing. I guess I was still jumpy, because I gave a start and felt it everywhere. “Sorry,” she went on, “didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that when you pull a little on your lower lip like that, I know you’ve just learned something-something’s up.”

I put my hand down from my face, caught in the act. “Didn’t realize I do that. Guess that’s another liability of staying single-no one to point out all your little idiosyncrasies.”

“I don’t know that I’d call that a liability.”

I filled her in on what I had learned. “I’m headed over to the hospital. See you later?”

“You know where I’ll be,” she said, looking over at the City Desk, where a general-assignment reporter was waiting to see her.


WALKING OVER to St. Anne’s was a lot slower process than the day before, but moving around did make me feel better.

As I walked down the hallway, I tried to decide whether to see Frank or Barbara and Kenny first. I realized I was starting to think of Barbara and Kenny as one unit in the critical-care ward. She seemed so much a part of his being a patient here, that I couldn’t think of it as “seeing how Kenny is doing.” Since I had no reason to believe that Barbara would welcome my visit, I decided to stop by Kenny’s room first and get that over with.

As soon as I walked in, I noticed that more of Kenny’s face was showing, although he still had a great deal of swelling and bruising. Barbara sat next to him in exactly the same position I had left her in the day before. She turned to me and on her weary face I could see exhaustion taking its toll.

“Irene!” She stood up and came over and hugged me. I was so shocked that it took me a minute to hug back.

“Irene, I’m so sorry I was rude to you yesterday. Pete Baird came by-he’s been so good to me-and he told me about you and Frank. I felt so bad. I could have lost you-and the last time I might have ever talked to you, I was mean. I saw Frank. He looks awful. And look at your poor forehead!” She was crying.

I don’t know why, but these reconciliations with Barbara are so welcomed and yet so awkward that I always feel a little inner sting when they occur. It passes, and while I know that we will inevitably go back to driving each other crazy, for a few moments we both know how really important we are to each other.

“I’m okay, Barbara, but I’m really worried about you. Have you had any sleep at all?”

“A little.”

I could see how little. “How’s Kenny?”

“He’s actually doing a little better. He’s been conscious a couple of times-well, sort of-he didn’t know where he was or what was going on, but he opened his eyes. Today he looked at me and said, ‘Barbara? What are you doing here?’ It’s the most he’s talked. He recognized me; they tell me that’s a good sign.”

“Could you sleep here in his room?”

“I’ve tried, but it’s hard. People are constantly in here checking on him. I know I should go home and go to bed, but I just can’t make myself do it. What if he wakes up and he’s frightened or disoriented? He might need me.”

I put my arm around her shoulders.

“Well, well,” came a lilting voice from the doorway. “How nice to see you two girls together.” Sister Theresa walked in, smiling until she saw my forehead. “Irene, I heard you just couldn’t bear to stay away from us. Look at those bruises.”

“It was a real letdown when I realized that you don’t just hover around in here all night like a guardian angel, Sister.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, dear. But I understand you left someone special for us to look after. Detective Harriman has had many visitors from the police force, all very concerned about him.” She paused, then added, “But I daresay he will be especially happy to see you.” There was an impish grin on her face. Great. A nun matchmaker.

“Well, I guess I’ll go over and see him then,” I said.

“Good. Now, Barbara, I think you need to trust an old nun to watch your husband’s bedside for a while. Go tell the nurse at the station out in the hall that I sent you. Our census is just low enough that we can spare a quiet place for you to sleep for a few hours. I won’t take no for an answer. You need to sleep. Go on now, go.”

I felt like I was back in Catholic school. An irresistible force, Sister Theresa. We thanked her and headed out the door. Barbara gave me one last hug and headed over to the nurses’ station. I went in the other direction, to Frank’s room.

I was surprised, then relieved, to see a uniformed officer outside Frank’s door. I told him my name and he checked a list. He took a look at my ID and said, “Sorry to have to check this, Miss Kelly. You understand.” I told him I did, and that I was glad he was there.

As I opened the door, I saw the room was full of flowers and cards from well-wishers. Frank was sleeping. In some ways, he looked worse than the night before. His bruises were quite dramatic, even on his sleeping face. He had two terrific shiners from the broken nose, which was still very swollen. His forehead was swollen, too, and much more discolored than my own. The swelling on his lip had gone down a little. I noticed he wasn’t so pale today.

He opened his eyes and took a while to wake up completely. His face suddenly went ashen, reflecting a wave of pain that was hard to watch. I found myself remembering visits to my father during his last illness, and how he had told me that he always hurt the most when he first woke up. I wondered if it was the same for Frank. He saw me and smiled a little. “Hi,” he said. He tried to bring himself around.

“Hi yourself. How’s the head?” I asked. Damn silly question.

He didn’t answer right away. “Truth?”

“Truth.”

“Hurts. A lot.”

He was talking slowly, with difficulty.

“Do you want me to come back later?”

“No, stay awhile. Okay?”

“Sure. But you don’t have to talk.”

“I know,” he said. He reached for my hand and held it. His was a rough hand, with calluses here and there, but it felt good to hold it. A little scary, but good. He closed his eyes and soon fell back to sleep.

I sat there with him like that for about an hour. Throughout that time, I fought down the panic welling up within me, a rising desire to leave. During the eternity spent sitting in that wreck the day before, waiting for the ambulance to arrive, I had tried not to focus on my fears about the seriousness of his injuries. Now I had to admit to myself that even knowing that they were not life-threatening, I was still uneasy. Too much experience with hospitals as places where people were lost to you forever. Too many good-byes to people dressed just as Frank was now, in rooms like this, with rolling trays and curtains and bedrails.

I argued with myself that Frank was not critically injured, did not have cancer like my father had, would only be here for a few days. I didn’t let go of his hand.

As I sat and listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, I realized that I had naively expected to be able to come in and chatter away with him, as if a good night’s sleep would get him over the concussion. I also realized that I missed having him to talk to about the case. I would have to do what I could on my own until he was up and around.

As if he could hear my thoughts, he woke up again. He seemed a little more alert this time. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s just that…well, I just feel bad that you got hurt like this.”

“Don’t be scared.”

“It’s not a matter of being scared.”

He grinned that half-grin. “I’ll be okay soon.”

He didn’t look as if he’d be okay soon, but I smiled back anyway.

He started to move his head, then seemed to get dizzy for a minute. He blanched and drew in a breath, closing his eyes. He never increased the pressure on my hand, but I saw him clench the sheets in his other hand.

I waited for it to pass, then said, “I’m going to go now. You need to rest. I’ll try to come back later today, after work.”

“Irene, wait,” he said, just above a whisper.

I waited.

“Talk to Pete about everything. No secrets, okay? You can trust him.”

I gave his hand a parting squeeze and said, “Get better, Frank. I’ll come back to see you tonight.”

He held on. “Promise-no secrets from Pete.”

“If Wrigley has this room wiretapped, I’m a dead woman. I’m in here holding hands with a cop, for Christ’s sakes.” I looked at his battered face, then added, “But being as you have saved my life twice in about as many days, okay, I promise.”

He relaxed and let go of my hand. “Thanks. Come back, okay?”

He was asleep again before I was out of the room.

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