Sixty-Seven

Hospitals smell like sadness.

The odor is always there, just under the cover of antiseptics, floor cleaners, and ubiquitous hand sanitizer. It worms its way into your nostrils, your hair, your skin, reminding you that staph germs are everywhere, poking, prodding, searching for a pimple or overripe hair follicle, hoping to deliver the yellow spot of infection. My hands, after touching the doors, the chairs, and the coffee machine, felt coated by an invisible and permanent layer of filth.

I’d sent Sal home. He’d offered to stay. Insisted. I told him to go. He was threadbare and gray, a beaten gorilla who had been shocked into submission by the zookeeper’s cattle prod and could do nothing but sit in the corner of a bare glass tank and rock. He needed sleep. He needed time in a dark room, alone and safe on his couch. He hadn’t slept in his bed since they found Sophia on it.

Bobby never made it to the hospital. He’d killed a fellow agent. There were debriefings, interrogations, and inquiries. He never asked me to come with him to support his story. He told me to be here when Jael came back to us. I was alone.

Then I wasn’t. A pair of gray ASICS sneakers appeared in front of me. I looked up.

It was Hugh Graxton. Unshaven. Wearing jeans under a maroon UMass sweatshirt.

Hugh pointed down at me. “What did you do?”

What did I do? Nothing. I had stared down the barrel of a gun and waited for it to kill me while Jael jumped in front of me.

What did I do? Everything. I had set a trap to get Frank Cantrell to incriminate himself to Bobby. A trap so stupid and transparent that he had recognized it immediately, had recognized the naive mind that had conceived it, and had acted to take revenge before the trap closed.

Jael had warned me. This could go very badly. It had.

Graxton was still there. “I asked you a question.”

What to say? Nothing. I averted my gaze. “Have a seat.”

“I don’t want a seat. I want to know what happened.”

Shook my head. Small arcs. “She took a bullet for me.”

“Why?”

Looked up. “Couldn’t tell you.” Looked back at Hugh’s shoes.

“Aw, shit,” said Hugh, slumping into a nearby seat, leaving a gap between us. “Well, what did the doctor say?”

“He didn’t say anything.”

“Why not?”

“Privacy. They’ll tell me when she’s been moved to a room.”

“So she’s going to be okay?”

I shrugged. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Sal called. Told me everything.”

Silence. I pulled out my phone, played solitaire, mindlessly losing game after game. Hugh stared into space.

I said, “I didn’t realize you and Jael were friends.”

Hugh said, “She’s a special lady.”

“I know.”

More solitaire.

“Frank Cantrell killed Jarrod Cooper,” I said. “I think Anderson is cleaning house.”

“Anderson’s a tool.”

“Yeah.”

“Frank Cantrell is worse. He’s a weasel.”

“Was a weasel.”

“Was?”

“Bobby killed him.”

“No shit.”

“Just after Frank shot Jael.”

“Good for Bobby.”

“You think Frank was working for Anderson?”

“Sure, why not? He was a bigger whore than Angie.”

“You would know,” I said.

“You didn’t even get a blow job? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’ve got some standards,” I said. It was a mean thing to say, but there you have it.

“More like you messed up somehow,” said Hugh. He crossed his arms, stared at the door to the waiting room.

I played more solitaire, played my date with Angie over in my mind. What did I do wrong? Probably it was not being ready to go to Capital Grille.

“Here we go,” said Hugh.

A doctor had slipped through the waiting room door. He was a small Indian man, looked to be in his twenties. We made eye contact. Hugh and I stood.

“How is she?” I asked.

The doctor said, “She’s in intensive care.”

“And?”

“I really can’t share more than that.”

Hugh said, “You can tell me, doc.”

“No. I can’t.”

Hugh reached into his jeans, pulled out a sheet of paper. “I’m her health care proxy.”

Good one.

“Ah,” said the doctor, reviewing the paper. “Thank you, Mr. Graxton.” The doctor looked at me.

Hugh said, “He’s cool. Just tell us.”

“She had a collapsed lung. Broken ribs. Lots of bleeding.”

“How is she?”

“We repaired the lung, removed the bullet, and have her on a ventilator as a precaution. She’s sedated.”

It was like talking to Microsoft technical support. The guy was spewing facts that were true and useless at the same time. I asked, “Will she live?”

The doctor glanced at me, addressed Hugh. “Guarded optimism for a full recovery. She should be able to take visitors tomorrow.”

Hugh said, “Thanks, Doc.”

They shook hands. The doctor slipped back into his netherworld.

Hugh said, “Well, that’s that.”

“Good thinking on the health care proxy,” I said.

“What are you talking about?”

“It wouldn’t have occurred to me to lie to the doctor.”

“I wasn’t lying.”

Right. “It’s late,” I said. “Don’t screw with me.”

“I am her health care proxy.”

I stared at Hugh. Tried to fit the pieces together. They didn’t fit. “Really,” I said. “She appointed you as her guardian in a hospital?”

Hugh brandished the paper. “Yeah. Why so surprised?”

“Why you?” I asked.

“Why not me?”

“I don’t know. I just would have thought—”

“It’s not all about you, Tucker.”

An image flashed in my mind: Jael and Hugh, in bed. A handsome couple, yet still a disturbing thought.

I asked, “Does Jael know about Sandy?”

“Sandy?”

“The girl you’ve got living with you.”

Hugh folded the proxy once, twice, making a clean rectangle. He slipped it into his back pocket, crossed his arms across his UMass logo, and faced me square on. He was a little bit taller, a little bit older, a little bit grayer.

“It’s none of your business,” he said.

“What is?”

Hugh made a stirring motion with his finger. “This whole thing. Me, Jael, Sandy. It’s none of your business.”

“So you’re saying there’s something there?”

“No. I’m saying it’s none of your business. Don’t ask me about Jael. Don’t ask me about Sandy.”

I said, “It’s not right.”

My phone chirped. I had a message.

Hugh said, “You’d better check that.”

He turned, walked away. Stopped at the door. Turned. “You know why Jael trusts me with her privacy?”

“Why?”

“Because I can keep a secret.”

Hugh left.

I can keep a secret. I fiddled with the phone, brought up the message.

It was from Caroline.

Caroline: Awake?

Me: Oh yeah.

Caroline: Sal told me what happened. How is Jael?

Me: They’re optimistic, but she’s still sedated.

Caroline: Sal said that thing that happened was your idea.

Me: Yeah. Another great idea.

Caroline: You need to talk? I could come over.

Me: Really?

Caroline: Yes.

Me: That would be great. But why would you come over?

Caroline: See you in an hour.

Now there was someone who could keep a secret.