Last Licks

3

The one certainty that Sunny had found in her work relationship with Oliver Barnstable was his uncertain temper—or rather, the certainty that sooner or later he would erupt over something. An unworthy part of her was just glad that this time around, she wasn’t the one he was unloading on, but the unpleasant Mr. Orton.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Ollie the Barnacle demanded. “Dancing Gangnam Style?” His normal red color came flooding back to his face as he pointed at his injured leg. “I busted this, and they doped me up to keep me out of it while they screwed with my leg—screwed in it, actually. So I haven’t paid much attention to our deal, Orton. I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

“Then you should have read this more carefully.” Orton jerked a thumb at the overstuffed envelope still sitting on Ollie’s hospital table. “If you had, you’d know that the option for that parcel of land you want has a time limit on it. Go over the time limit, and you’ll have to renegotiate the whole agreement. And I promise you, the longer you jerk me around on this deal, the more you’re going to end up paying.”

With that, Orton stomped out of the room, leaving Ollie to chew his lips in silence for a moment. Then he turned to Sunny. “Have you got the number for my lawyer?”

Luckily, Sunny had that one memorized. She recited it to Ollie, who punched it into his bedside phone. The conversation was brief and definitely unpleasant, with Ollie demanding his counsel get up to Bridgewater Hall as soon as possible. He hung up still angry. “We’ll have to go over this damned contract,” Ollie said as if it were all Sunny’s fault. “I’ll want you here in the morning to pick it up.”

Before he could complain any more, a woman in a white lab coat entered the room. From the way she walked, Sunny suspected this was a woman who didn’t put up with much. She didn’t look more than ten years older than Sunny, though a few gray strands were beginning to appear in the brown hair she wore pulled back. Her skin was pale, her cheekbones high, and her lips were full—or would be if she relaxed them from that tightly pursed expression—and her eyes were a stony gray, set on either side of a proud beak of a nose.

“Evening, Doctor,” Gardner Scatterwell said, his voice sounding like a fawning grade school student.

The doctor paid no attention to him, nor to Sunny and her dad. “I am Dr. Gavrik,” she announced to Ollie in a slightly accented voice. “I have read your charts from the hospital and will perform an examination now.”

With a few brusque movements, she got Ollie back into bed and then pulled the curtains around them. “Your blood pressure is much higher than it has been at your other readings,” they heard her comment from behind the gaily patterned fabric.

“He just had a rather tense business discussion,” Mike called in explanation.

For just a second, Dr. Gavrik’s face appeared from behind the curtain, her expression withering. “Did I ask you for a diagnosis?” she all but hissed at him.

Mike glanced at Sunny and his own face reddened.

I suspect the blood pressure reading just went up on this side of the room, too, Sunny thought, but she said nothing and neither did her father.

The doctor vanished behind the curtains again for several minutes. When she reappeared, briskly moving the privacy curtain back to the wall with a rattle of hooks against the ceiling track, she seemed the model of serene professionalism.

“Except for the blood pressure, all the other exam results are normal. I’ll have the nurse check your pressure twice more this evening. I expect it will be acceptable. Then, tomorrow, you will be evaluated by our therapy department, and they will prepare a treatment plan for you. Good evening, Mr. Barnstable.”

With a nod, Dr. Gavrik headed for the door, leaving the room in silence.

Despite a wince of pain from the exertion, Ollie pulled himself up to make sure that the doctor was well and truly gone. Even then, he kept his voice low as he turned to Mike. “What kind of joint have you gotten me into?” he demanded. “Doctors like that—they bury their mistakes.”

“Doctors like who?” Sunny asked.

“You know—foreign ones.” Ollie kept his voice low and his eyes on the doorway. “Anything goes wrong, they can always go back to wherever they came from.”

“I can’t believe—” Sunny began, but Gardner Scatterwell suddenly spoke up.

“She’ll never win any bedside manner awards, but I can assure you, Dr. Gavrik is an excellent physician,” he said. “Most of the people in this ward are basically trying to get themselves better, so health is less of an issue. But in the time I’ve been here, I’ve seen Dr. Gavrik save the lives of several permanent residents.”

Now I see why they call Gardner the mayor of the rehab ward, Sunny thought. He even talks like a politician.

Gardner waggled his eyebrows. “Besides, when you get to know her, you’ll find she’s a very attractive woman.”

Sunny rolled her eyes. Maybe too much like a politician.

“I guess Dad and I ought to be heading home,” she said.

“Yeah,” Ollie the Barnacle said. “Check in at the office tomorrow morning, then come here and collect these papers.”

Sunny and her dad said good-bye to Ollie and Gardner, then headed down the hallway. Mike was silent as they walked past the nurses’ station and then toward the front door.

“You okay, Dad?” Sunny asked. “That doctor didn’t upset you, did she?”

“I was thinking of something else.” But Mike didn’t elaborate as they got to Rafe the guard’s desk. While her father paged back through the sign-in book, Rafe smiled at Sunny. “Well, it looks as if you survived the Curse of Portia,” he said.

Mike looked up. “Is that Dr. Gavrik’s first name?”

That took the wind out of Rafe’s sails, reducing him to “Er, ah . . .”

“This is my dad, Mike Coolidge,” Sunny introduced them. Then she went on to explain the rumors about Portia acting as the fickle finger of death.

Mike snorted and shook his head. “I’m getting gladder and gladder I didn’t come to this place when I was sick. It’s beginning to sound like a home for the feeble-minded.”

“Just a place where a lot of lonely folks have no place to go and nothing much to talk about,” Rafe said. “It’s like little kids telling ghost stories.”

“Yup—definitely happy that I can get out,” Mike mumbled, scrawling his name in the appropriate spot. Sunny signed out, too, then said good-bye to Rafe.

“Have a good evening,” Rafe replied.

As they stepped out the door, Mike said, “That’s a nice boy.”

“Dad.” Sunny gave him an exasperated look. “You don’t have to worry about setting me up.”

“I was just thinking that maybe Will Price could use a little competition,” Mike turned an innocent blue gaze on her. “They’re even in a similar field. Will’s a cop, and this fellow is in security.”

“Rafe’s also a lot younger than I am,” Sunny pointed out.

“Oh, that all evens out in, say, twenty years.”

Wonderful, Sunny silently groused. He’s already got me married and sitting beside the fire for twenty years. “What’s got you thinking like this?” she asked.

“I’ve just been mulling over something Gardner mentioned,” Mike confessed. “He asked why the band broke up. You know, I met your mother through that stupid band. She used to stand right up front when we played.” He smiled at the memory. “There were usually three kinds of people you’d find up front. The ones who couldn’t dance, the ones who wanted to look cool, and the ones who really enjoyed the music. Your mother loved music—not that I need to remind you of that, with your name.”

Sunny nodded. With a name like Sonata, it hadn’t always been easy when she was younger. Kids are the ultimate conformists, and anything even a little bit different tended to get picked on. But she’d come through reasonably all right. It’s too bad I lost Mom just when I was finally getting comfortable with the name, she thought. She’d thank her for it now.

“So she knew your friend Gardner, too, huh?” Sunny said. “You know, there’s a fourth reason for people to hang around in front of a band—groupies.”

“I think that’s why Gardner got into music,” Mike told her. “I had to give him a poke in the snoot when he started sniffing around your mother while she was going out with me. It’s definitely what broke up the band.”

“Dad!” Sunny couldn’t believe what he was saying.

But Mike merely nodded and gave her a shamefaced grin. “I’d forgotten about all that when I saw him today. It was almost fifty years ago, for the love of mud. I’d just hear about him in passing. Seemed as if he was always going off places, sometimes for years at a time. Mexico, Nepal . . . I suppose he could tell you some stories.”

“Well, at least you seemed friendly enough now,” Sunny said. “I guess the two of you have gotten older and wiser.”

Mike just shrugged. “Older, at least.”

He got in his truck, she got in her SUV, and they both headed home.

*

Shadow had checked all the rooms in the house—all except one, where the door was closed. So he’d given up for the time being and come back downstairs. He woke from a nap at the rattle of keys in the lock and strolled over to investigate the newcomers. Would it be Sunny—which would be cause for a warm welcome—or the Old One, her father, who would just get a cursory sniff?

It turned out to be both of them. He twined around Sunny’s legs as they headed for the room where the two-legs kept the food.

Shadow’s nose told him that Sunny and the Old One had been in the same place. Some of the smells clinging to them were familiar—they reminded him of scents he’d encountered when he’d been taken to be treated for sickness or hurts. But he also got a whiff of many Old Ones, smells of sickness.

When Sunny knelt to pet him, Shadow detected another scent on her hands. He smelled cat!

For a second, he was disconcerted and nearly pulled away. Instead, he found himself avidly sniffing her fingers as she gently stroked through his fur. Sunny made happy sounds and spoke to the Old One, who grumbled in reply. His rumbling only got louder when Shadow approached to sniff at him, too, though he quickly returned to Sunny when he didn’t find the interesting cat scent on the other human.

Even when Sunny stopped playing with him and began preparing a meal, Shadow stayed close, breathing in the dissipating scent. Definitely a She. Strange. He’d smelled plenty of cats in his wanderings. What made the scent of this female so interesting?

*

Shadow acted a bit oddly during supper, climbing several times into Sunny’s lap to sniff at her hands.

“You did wash ’em before you touched the food, right?” Mike asked.

“Dad!” Sunny gave him a look.

“Well, the furball keeps checking them out. And you said it was a female cat you were petting.” Mike’s bright blue eyes fixed Shadow with a dubious stare. “Are you sure he’s been, like, fixed?”

“It was one of the first things Jane Rigsdale checked when she became his vet,” Sunny assured her dad. “I don’t exactly think Shadow could fake that.”

“All right, all right, just asking.” Mike switched the topic. “I’m glad we invited Helena over. Be nice to see her.”

Sunny knew her dad had been missing his lady friend, who’d been out of town over the weekend visiting her daughter in Boston. And, of course, Sunny knew Mike had an ulterior motive. Helena Martinson was sure to bring her award-winning coffee cake. “You’re just glad to have some dessert tonight,” she scolded. “Don’t go crazy on the cake.”

Mike raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. The food police have spoken.”

“Speaking of police, I invited Will over, too,” Sunny tried to sound casual. That date for pancakes had never materialized over the weekend. Will had been preempted for something on Saturday morning, and he stayed out of touch on Sunday. Since he’d switched to the day shift this week, she’d invited him over tonight. “Don’t worry,” Sunny assured Mike. “If there’s not enough coffee cake to go around, he can share my piece.”

That sort of mirrored her problem with Will. Just like the coffee cake, there weren’t enough available males to be found in a small town like Kittery Harbor. Sunny should be glad to be seeing a guy like Will. But she wondered if it wasn’t getting a bit . . . well, dull. Pancake breakfasts, coffee cake. It didn’t sound like a healthy diet, for the body or for the soul.

Mike didn’t seem to have that problem with Mrs. M. His face was eager as they cleared the dinner plates and cleaned them. Then he set a pot of coffee brewing and got out the good china cups and cake plates. The coffee was just about done when the doorbell rang.

Mike moved with an extra spring in his step to answer it—although he almost sprang back when he opened the door to be greeted with a joyful “woof!” A biscuit-colored dog had his paws halfway up Mike’s thigh as he stretched to try and lick at his hands.

That pup just keeps growing, Sunny thought as Helena Martinson struggled with the golden Lab’s leash.

“Toby, get down! Where are your manners?” the petite woman scolded. She had a figure women decades younger would envy, and even her hair had merely gone from blond to something more like platinum. Mike had to bend down to receive her kiss, but he obviously thought it worthwhile. He didn’t even notice the dog romping around his legs. Mrs. Martinson gave Mike Toby’s leash and walked down the hall with a rueful smile. “Toby is still a bit of a handful,” she said, handing Sunny a small box that held her famous coffee cake.

“If he keeps growing, you’ll be able to ride him over,” Sunny replied.

Mike released Toby from his leash, and the dog headed immediately into the living room, sniffing the air and whining because he couldn’t find his friend Shadow. Sunny glanced back toward the kitchen, but the cat had definitely made himself scarce. He’d probably put in an appearance when the guests were leaving—Sunny was never sure whether it was an attempt to be sociable or if Shadow wanted to make sure the dog was definitely gone.

The bell rang again, and Sunny went this time to find Will Price at the door. He wore a pair of khakis and a natural cotton short-sleeved shirt, which should have gone over well on his rangy form with its summer tan. But the light colors only brought out a bright redness under his tan, a redness that only increased on his nose and cheeks, although the area around his eyes was noticeably paler. Wherever he’d spent the weekend, he’d been wearing sunglasses.

“That looks like a pretty good burn,” she told him, not feeling too much sympathy. So this was why he couldn’t see her?

“Ben Semple invited me out on his boat for some fishing Saturday morning,” Will said, naming a cop colleague. “We were stuck out there longer than I anticipated—without any sunblock. Ben got it even worse—he’s fairer than I am.” Will’s regular features, usually so calm and competent, twisted in embarrassment. “I spent Saturday afternoon and all of Sunday in the tub, trying to soak this down.”

“Well, I can’t tell if you’re blushing, so it didn’t quite work.” Shaking her head, Sunny led him to the living room, where Mike and Mrs. M. were already ensconced with coffee cake. After commenting on Will’s sunburn, they turned to Ollie Barnstable’s mishap. When Mike mentioned bumping into Gardner Scatterwell after all these years, Will looked a little surprised. “I met the man while doing some fund-raising for my old school,” he said. “Scatterwell graduated about thirty years ahead of me, but I was sent to try and tickle a donation out of him, along with a lot of rich folk up in Piney Brook.”

“Lord knows, Gardner would have the loot,” Mike chuckled. “I remember—”

But Helena cut off his flood of reminiscence. “I never warmed to Gardner,” she interrupted, “and I’d prefer not to hear about him.”

Mike was taken aback but quickly switched tracks to talk about the prickly Dr. Gavrik. Sunny waited until she and Helena were alone in the kitchen to put in her two cents. As a major linchpin in the Kittery Harbor gossip network, typically Mrs. M. would be eager to hear the latest news, even about people she didn’t necessarily like.

Especially about people she didn’t like, the cynical voice in the back of Sunny’s head suggested.

“I hope Dad didn’t upset you, mentioning Gardner Scatterwell. They were in a band together back in his high school days—although Dad says that ended when Gardner got too interested in my mom.”

“A chronic condition for him,” Mrs. Martinson muttered as she put plates in the sink. “I didn’t grow up around here, so I never encountered the Piney Brook crowd until I moved into town with my late husband.” She shook her head. “‘Scatterwell’ was an appropriate name for Gardner. He said it was because some ancestor must have been good at sowing seed on a farm. What he was good at was sowing wild oats—long after he should have grown up. You’ve heard the saying, ‘Shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves in three generations’? Gardner did his best to make that come true. His father made the family fortune, and he found ways to throw it away.”

“Sounds like a lot of people who’ve got more money than brains,” Sunny said.

Helena shot her a sharp look. “But not enough of a reason to dislike the man? Then how about this—true to form, he once got me alone in the kitchen during a party and told me how much he loved me.”

Sunny shrugged. “You’ve always been an attractive woman.”

“Yeah, but then he tried to show the depths of his devotion by shoving his tongue down my throat.” Helena Martinson made a face. “He knew I was married, for heaven’s sake. And if you remember my Raymond . . .”

Sunny recalled Mr. Martinson as a big, stocky guy who’d obviously adored his petite wife and gorgeous daughter (who was a few years older than Sunny). He’d had to put up with a lot of teenaged boys around the house, but he was pretty easygoing, even tolerating the guys who’d buzzed around Helena like moths drawn to her hot-mom flame—pretty much the same way Shadow tolerated Toby coming over.

“I recall a lot of guys who had crushes on you,” Sunny said.

“Boys.” Helena made a dismissive gesture. “Gardner was old enough to know better. And if Ray had found out, Gardner would’ve had his head handed to him.”

“What did you do?” Sunny couldn’t help asking.

“I pushed him away, told him his passion wasn’t requited, and made sure I was never alone with him again.” Mrs. M.’s lips twisted in a sort of smile. “He moped around for a couple of weeks, trying to convince me he was heartbroken, then went off to make some other woman’s life miserable. You could follow it like the phases of the moon. Usually his so-called deathless passions lasted about six weeks.”

“So you have no interest in tracking him down at Bridgewater Hall and rekindling the flames?” Sunny teased.

Helena’s answer caught Sunny off guard. “I’m very happy with what I have with your father. Someday I hope you can enjoy the same thing.” She glanced at the kitchen door. “Even if the man in your life lets himself get roasted like a turkey.”

Sunny determinedly turned the conversation away from herself and Will. “Dad told me he gave Gardner a poke in the snout in their go-round,” she said. “Is he the one who knocked it off-kilter?”

“No, but I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised to hear that someone did.” Helena sighed. “His nose was fine when I knew him. Gardner Scatterwell was a very handsome man—and knew it. That was one of his problems.” She moved aside to let Sunny add the cups and saucers to the dishes in the sink, and then turned on the water. “I don’t think I’d like to see what became of him.”

They finished with the dishes and went back outside, where Mike and Will were discussing the woes of Red Sox Nation. Helena Martinson chatted a little more, then she rose to get Toby’s leash. As if by magic, Shadow suddenly appeared, just as Sunny had anticipated. Toby gave a loud bark of delight and loped over to the cat. Shadow’s tail lashed around, demonstrating his discomfort, but he put up with the dog’s clumsy overtures. To show there were no hard feelings, Shadow even accepted a brief petting from Mrs. Martinson. Then she clipped the leash onto Toby’s collar, and they left into the night.

Will soon followed her example. When Sunny turned from the doorway, she found only Shadow behind her. Mike had graciously left the living room to give some privacy for a good-night kiss.

After the door closed, Sunny sat down on the floor and stretched out her hands to Shadow. “You were a very gracious host,” she teased him. “Especially with Toby.” He climbed into her lap, pursuing her hands with his nose.

“I think it’s time to give that up,” Sunny told him. “I’ve washed my hands a couple of times, plus doing the dishes. All you’re going to smell is soap.”

Shadow gave her a sidelong look with those gold-flecked eyes of his, then reached out with both paws to capture her other hand.

Mike returned to reestablish himself on the couch. “So what were you and Helena gabbing about in the kitchen?”

“Just girl talk,” Sunny replied. She wasn’t about to pass along what Mrs. Martinson had told her.

Her dad gave her a sly smile. “Maybe about a good-looking young security guard?”

“Dad.” It took everything Sunny had to keep the word from drawing out into the exasperated whine of her teenaged days.

“I know, I know, you think he’s too young.” Mike waved her dirty look away. “It’s just a coincidence that Helena has had younger guys making sheep’s eyes at her as long as I can remember. Of course.”

If she argued, Sunny knew her father would just hang on to the subject like Toby with a toy bone. “Whatever,” she said darkly.

Mike nodded in self-satisfaction and began working the television remote.

“Probably looking for a rerun of Father Knows Best,” she muttered to herself.

*

The next morning, Sunny got up earlier than usual. She came downstairs fully dressed and made a quick breakfast—somewhat hampered by Shadow, who insisted on rubbing his way around her ankles in a complex pattern. At last, however, Sunny managed to say good-bye to her dad and her cat and set off for the office. If winter threw ice and snow in a commuter’s way, summer brought tourists to clog the roads. When Sunny discovered that the reason traffic had slowed to a crawl up the hill above town was because some yo-yo was shooting pictures of the scenic vista, she was mightily tempted to see if a nudge from her Wrangler could send the tourist’s rental car down the rougher end of the slope.

Even with the delay, however, she got into the office ahead of her regular time. Sunny checked the answering machine and cranked up the computer. No smoke signals warning about business or Internet troubles. So she locked up the office again and went back to her SUV.

The trip to Bridgewater lived up to all the hype she wrote for the MAX tourism website—the countryside was rolling and verdant at this time of year, especially when she hit the country roads, and a clear sky spread above. She arrived at Bridgewater Hall, parked, and walked through the baronial entrance. The security guard didn’t live up to the grandeur this time around—he looked as if this was his first job out of high school. His uniform didn’t fit. Sticking up from the collar on a skinny stalk of a neck, his head looked like a particularly unlovely plant. Small, dull brown eyes barely looked at her as the guy said, “May I help you, ma’am?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Barnstable in Room 114.”

The guard needed to consult a separate binder to establish that such a patient was in residence. Then he finally pushed the sign-in book her way.

At last she headed down the hallway to the nurses’ station, though it was empty—as was Ollie’s room. An aide in blue surgical scrubs offered help. “Mr. Barnstable is in therapy. Go back to the desk and take the second hallway.”

Sunny followed the directions down a hall with a lot of wheelchairs—many folded together and apparently stored along the walls of the corridor. A few, though, were occupied. She quickly spotted Gardner Scatterwell beside an open door. Gardner waved her over. “Good to see you, Sunny.” Then he glanced up at the man standing behind his chair. “You’ve got to meet this delightful young woman, Alfred. Sunny, my nephew Alfred.”

“Alfred Scatterwell.” The guy had to be somewhere around Sunny’s age, and he looked like Gardner—sort of. He had the same beaky nose (though his was straight) and the same glassy blue eyes. He had more hair than his uncle, and it was darker, but he was already losing it. And where Gardner was portly, Alfred was tall and skinny, except for an outsized potbelly. It gave him the look of an anaconda working hard at digesting a swallowed sheep—even to the slightly dyspeptic expression on his face as they shook hands.

Dyspeptic . . . or distrustful?

“I’m trying to track down my boss,” Sunny explained. “He’s Gardner’s roommate.”

Alfred seemed to relax a little at that.

“Now you feel better?” Gardner’s voice held a faint mocking note. “He was afraid you’d turn out to be another unfortunate attachment to be mentioned in my will. Alfred is the family’s all-purpose heir. He’s determined to restore Grandfather Scatterwell’s fortune the old-fashioned way—by inheritance.”

Alfred’s face set in the pattern of someone who’d heard the same joke over and over and was long past finding it funny.

“Ah.” Sunny couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Time to change the subject. “Do you know where Ollie is?”

Gardner jerked a thumb at that doorway. “He’s in for PT. Some call it physical therapy, I call it painful torture. I’m waiting to see who’ll be putting me through my paces.”

Even as he spoke, a woman came out. “Mr. Scatterwell.”

She was not unattractive—the bone structure was there in her face, behind the wire-framed glasses she wore, but she wore no makeup and her thick gray-streaked brown hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. Her figure was disguised by a bulky sweat suit, and she walked with a slight limp.

Gardner looked at the woman and recoiled theatrically. “Oh, no, it’s Elsa, the She-Wolf of Occupational Therapy! Take it easy on me, please, Elsa. I’m still recovering.”

Elsa gave a weary sigh. “You’ve been recovering for several months, Mr. Scatterwell. We should be seeing more results by now.”

That got a different reaction from the older man. “So you’ve been working with me for several months now? Which means you’ve been paid during that time—while I’ve been contributing very generously to your salary and all the others?”

“If you want to discuss administrative issues, you should speak to Dr. Reese.” The woman’s voice became so careful, it was toneless.

“Hank Reese is an old friend of mine,” Gardner Scatterwell said. “We were boys together. That’s one of the reasons I came to this overpriced torture chamber.”

“It is overpriced, Uncle,” Alfred chimed in. “When you had to spend a couple of days back at the hospital, Dr. Reese charged four hundred dollars a day just to keep your bed here.”

“More money that won’t be coming to you.” The cheerful guy Sunny had met yesterday was completely gone now. Money really seemed to bring out the worst in Gardner. “But I’ll be staying here as long as I need.” He glared at both Alfred and the therapist. “As long as I want.”

“I’ll see if I can get you a different therapist,” the woman said, heading back to the door. She almost collided with Sunny, who was just trying to get away from the developing scene.

“Sorry,” Sunny said, stepping through and to the side.

“I’m Elsa Hogue.” The therapist lowered her voice with a glance over her shoulder. “If you have any influence with Mr. Scatterwell, I’d appreciate it if you could explain that he needs to take this therapy more seriously.”

“I’m sorry again,” Sunny said. “I don’t have any influence around here. I’m looking for my boss—” She broke off when she spotted Ollie in the large, crowded room. He stood, after a fashion, crouched over a rolling walker. His face was pale and damp with sweat, and his knuckles were white as he clutched at the handles. A husky physical therapist walked at his side, keeping a sturdy grasp on the seat of Ollie’s sweatpants. Bringing up the rear came a kid, a summer volunteer probably, pushing a wheelchair.

A security blanket, Sunny realized. He obviously can’t walk very far, but this setup encourages him to stay on his feet as long as possible.

At that moment, Ollie looked up from taking a step and saw Sunny. He was in the middle of moving his bad leg and staggered, nearly falling back onto the chair. His face was a mask of humiliation and fury as he bawled, “Get out!”