Chapter 63

A green curtain surrounds me. The doctor looks at my chart. “We’ll keep him here until tomorrow just to be sure,” he says. Muller has tears in his eyes. The bastard took me out with a cannonball and gave me the breath of life. In some cultures, that would make me his bitch.

A nurse comes by later, takes my temperature, then leaves. I have no sense of time. Mary and Judy are fast asleep in chairs. Muller continues to weep over my sanitized sheets. I can still taste chlorine. “Sam,” Muller says, “Are you awake?”

“I can’t feel my hand.”

“Sorry,” Muller says. “I was sitting on it.”

Mary and Judy wake up. “How’s he doing?” Mary says.

“He can’t feel his hand,” Muller says.

Mary jumps up. “My, God, you’re paralyzed?”

“Relax,” I say. “Muller was sitting on it.”

“He certainly sounds okay,” Mary says.

“You still look a bit green, Daddy.”

“I cleaned the bottom of the pool with my face, sweetheart. Thanks to your husband.”

We check out the following morning. Mary makes up a bed in the sunroom. Light reflects off my forehead, the lovebirds coo, Muller makes mulligatawny soup. Just before dinner, Riley and Pam drop by with confetti in their hair. They’re still tidying up the mess. “You gave us a hell of a scare, Sam,” Riley says.

I see the pool skimmer handle going back and forth across the yard. A sombrero sits on top. The kids must be helping out. “We’d better get back,” Pam says.

I eat soup and watch The Rec Room of Sound. Otis is crying for a woman whose son shot off his big toe. He was trying to take out a rat with a twelve gauge. “Your son’s toe is in a better place,” Otis cries.

Margot rolls her eyes while Ruby goes back and forth with laundry. “What did he do now?” she asks Margot.

“Just told a woman her son’s toe is in a better place.”

“His toe?”

“He shot it off with a twelve gauge.”

“Shut up,” Otis says. “I’m trying to comfort this woman.”

Margot comes over and pushes Otis out of his chair. “Look, ma’am,” Margot says. “The toe’s gone. Your son’s a twit. He’s obviously no match for a rat. Take the gun away from him before he shoots himself in the nuts.”

“And with that,” Otis says, “we end today’s show.”

“You’ve only been on an hour, Otis.”

“Oh . . . Here’s Booker T. and the MGs doing, ‘Time is Tight,’ which should give me time to use the little boy’s room. Be back soon, folks, with more Otis Cries for You. To our last caller,”—his hand goes to his mouth—“your son’s still got other toes, ma’am.”

I close my eyes, drifting off as the needle skips on Otis’s record. In my dreams, I see the wiener van, all shiny and new, leading children into Lake Michigan. Mary wakes me up, saying I’m talking in my sleep. “You were calling to Frank,” she says.

“What was I saying?”

“You wanted to know if hot dogs float.”

Judy and Muller are playing Scrabble. Muller’s tapping a tile against his lips, probably trying to spell, “cat.” Across the yard, Mexican blankets hang over the fence. Riley’s youngest, Lisa, is up on the diving board, hands above her head. A light breeze brings the smell of chlorine through the window. It reminds me of deodorizer pucks and Margot. She’s on the air, giving shit to some blogger with a foot fetish.

“How can you stick something like that in your mouth?” she says. “Honestly, I think you people say stuff just to bug me. Did you know you’re playing tonsil hockey with athlete’s foot? Not to mention Plantar Warts? You might as well be kissing a shower floor.”

It hurts to laugh. I cough and sputter and Mary brings me tissues. “Pam came by a little while ago.”

“Why?”

She holds up Zack’s security guard hat. “They found it in the shallow end.”

“I’ll let Max know.”

“He called earlier to see how you’re doing.”

“That’s nice.”

“Ruby says to get plenty of rest. Muller is going with them tomorrow. That’ll be his last day.”

“Why?”

“He can’t paint and cater, Sam. The phone’s been ringing all day.”

“Who’s calling?”

“People from the party. They love Muller’s cooking.”

“He and Judy are never going back to Seattle, are they?”

“Be happy for them. They’ve found something they can do together. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be hearing a baby soon.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better?”

“You’ll be a grandfather.”

“Seattle’s ranked one of the best places to raise a kid.”

“Where did you read that? Is that true, Judy?”

“Just a sec, Mom. I think I’ve got a ten point word.”

“It isn’t aggravation, is it?”

“Stop being so obtuse, Sam.”

“That’s a word I haven’t heard in ages.”