CHAPTER 13

The next day we walked up First Avenue to the hospital. Through the thick, hot Sunday silence, a heat so dense it seemed to muffle sounds, we walked, not talking much. As we stepped off the curb at Sixty-fifth Street, a huge black limousine turned the corner and bore down on us. As if we weren’t there. That car was so gigantic it resembled a family-size hearse. The guy behind the wheel was probably used to having pedestrians flee from him. When you’re that big, that powerful, that intimidating, you must get accustomed to having obstacles in your path dissolve. We were supposed to dissolve.

Al perked up. That car had the same effect on her that Martha Moseley usually does. Even when she’s in the pits, if Martha crosses her path, she livens up considerably. I could almost see her adrenaline churning through her veins, reviving, restoring, renewing her.

“Not today, bud,” she said, and held her arm out, stiff as a ramrod, like a traffic cop telling traffic to cease and desist while he helps a little old lady across the street.

We kept on going. The limo kept on coming. One of us was going to have to give in. I was all for it. I liked being in one piece. Not Al. She had made up her mind he wasn’t going to steamroll over us. She knew her rights. I knew if I turned and wimped my way back and stood on the sidewalk with my thumb in my mouth or something, waiting for the limo to go on its merry way, she’d never forgive me. I stuck by her, but my teeth were chattering. No mean feat in New York City in July.

The windows of the car were all tightly shut. That meant it was air conditioned. Probably the fat cats inside were discussing multimillion-dollar deals. The windows were the dark, fogged-up kind, the kind we couldn’t see through but the people inside could see out of. Rock musicians have cars with windows like that. So do TV personalities. So people won’t stare in at them, I guess.

“Maybe it’s a corporation president in there,” Al suggested. “Excuse me, sir”—she raised her voice—“but are you a corporation president?”

The driver stared at us. He looked dead. Maybe he was. He wore a chauffeur’s cap, and his face was made of stone. He also wore dark glasses. He took his hand off the wheel and made an obscene gesture. The diamond ring on his pinky caught the light and winked at us. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a submachine gun pointed at me. I had everything I could do to keep from running. It seemed to me I could feel the car’s bumper against my leg.

“Hurry,” I whispered. “Let’s move.”

Al came to a halt, blocking the car’s way. She did a couple of bumps and grinds for good measure, smiling at the driver. I stayed behind her as best I could. This time it was me using her for a shield. Then slowly, like a couple of snails on their way to the dentist, we inched our way to the opposite curb. And stood there, triumphant, as the driver gunned the motor like he was in training for the Daytona 500, making a lot of noise to show us he was the big macho macho guy he’d always been.

“Please, God,” Al said softly, “let him stall. Please. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?” I guess it was. Smoothly, like a gigantic black snake, the big black car slithered its way down the block. I checked the rear windows, hoping to see a face looking out at us. There was no one.

A man standing in front of O’Malley’s Saloon picked his teeth and regarded us with some interest.

“That’s one for the home team, huh?” he said.

“You bet,” Al agreed. I smiled at the man. He lifted his shoulders and returned to the dark depths of O’Malley’s.

We continued on our way. Al was much more cheerful. That kind of encounter, the good guys against the bad guys, always cheered her. But by the time we reached the hospital, she was quiet again. I sat down in one of the phony leather chairs they had in the waiting room and opened my paperback. I watched as Al went up to the desk, and after a bit the woman behind it handed her a card. Then Al went over to the elevators. I pretended to be reading. When I looked up, she was gone.

Someone sat down beside me. It was a man. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his hands. He had a handkerchief balled up in his hand. He worked that poor handkerchief around the head and shoulders: he balled it up, then stretched it out on his knee and smoothed it over and over, then balled it up again. Then he got up and walked away. I think he was waiting for something terrible to happen. I never saw his face, but that’s what I think. I watched him walk out of the main door. I didn’t see him again.

Al came down. We started home. I waited for her to tell me about her mother. She walked very fast.

“Slow down,” I said, huffing and puffing. “Slow down, can’t you?”

She slowed but not much.

“How is she?” I asked at last.

“She’s all right,” Al said. “The doctor came in while I was there, and he said she was coming along fine.”

“That’s good,” I said. I wondered why she seemed so glum. “I think that’s very good news. Don’t you?”

“Sure. It’s terrific.” She stomped along.

“Did he say when she could come home?” I asked.

“He said he’d know better tomorrow. He did some tests and took some X-rays, he said, and he’d get the results tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Two days after tomorrow Al was supposed to go to the farm. The day after that was the barn dance.

“Oh,” I said. Together we sped home. I had a terrible pain in my side when we pulled up in front of our apartment building. We took the elevator up to our floor.

“My mother should be home soon,” I said. “And Teddy.”

Al fumbled at her front, to get her front door key. “You’re coming to our place, aren’t you?” I said, surprised.

“Oh, not tonight, with your mother and Teddy coming home and all,” she said. “I thought I’d bunk in alone tonight. Maybe tomorrow I’ll come over. I don’t want to wear out my welcome.” She attempted a smile, which didn’t really succeed.

“Don’t be a dope,” I said. “My mother will have a cow if you don’t sleep over at our house. Until your mother comes home.”

“Well,” Al said, “I don’t want to be in the way or anything.”

“You would never be in the way,” I told her. “You’re like a member of our family.”

“I am?” Al said, startled. “Really?”

“Sure. Come on in and stop being silly.” I opened our door. “Besides, I need a helping hand. There’s a lot of picking up to be done before they get here.”

“A lot of picking up or a lot of shoveling out?” Al said in a jaunty way.

“You name it, we’ve got it,” I said.