CHAPTER
11
Hospital Rounds

1:10 P.M.

I thought time had passed slowly in the patrol car. Time in the hospital oozed by.

I’m no good at science or math, but I did have to take a couple of science classes in high school. One of my teachers told a story about Albert Einstein. Someone asked what he meant when he said time was relative: “Time spent with a pretty girl seems to go faster than time spent sitting on a hot stove.” That’s all I know about his theories, but at least that part made sense to me. We had been at the hospital over six hours, but it felt like we’d spent a decade in the waiting room. Relative time.

They wouldn’t let me see Littlefoot. I thought about pushing the doctors and nurses aside. Not one of them was big enough to stop me, and I was highly motivated.

But an invisible hand held me in place. At least that’s how it felt to me. Reason came back. God could save her whether I was there or not. I’m not indispensable. I’m just one tool in God’s tool kit. Not every tool is right for the job. So I did the tough work. I waited. And waited.

Deputy Waddle—I couldn’t call him Wad after what he did for Littlefoot—filled us in on what he knew. He had been on graveyard shift. It was his week. He left the station to do another patrol before the day crew came in. He heard a scream. Looked down the street. Saw something a couple blocks away, the same place we first saw Littlefoot, and something blurry. He rushed in her direction. He found her . . .

Sorry, it’s a hard story to tell. I wasn’t there but I could still see it.

Waddle found her lying in the snow, bleeding. He called for backup, found the worst wounds and tried to slow their flow—with his bare hands. Another deputy arrived to help and the ambulance came shortly after that. Then he called Uncle Bart from his cell phone.

To me, Waddle looked like a hero—a pale, blood-splattered, shaky hero.

“Seeing her lying in the middle of the street, in the dirty snow . . .” He swore. Shook. Then wobbled. I took him in my arms, bloody uniform and all, and held him. He cried, not like a child, but like a man who had seen brutality he would never forget.

We tried to get what information we could, but only learned that emergency surgery was needed and the doctors would talk to us later. I knew they weren’t brushing us off, but it sure felt like it. Uncle Bart decided to go back to town and take Waddle with him. The deputy seemed too shaken to drive. “Give Tank the keys to the patrol car in case he needs them. You know, to get a bite to eat or somethin’.”

I wasn’t going anywhere.

Uncle Bart also wanted to check out the scene of the crime. Maybe there was something to be learned. Maybe.

The triage nurse in the ER directed me to a surgical lobby, a place where friends and family did the impossible work of waiting. I found a seat in the middle of a row of padded chairs, closed my eyes, and began to pray. It was the least I could do; it was the most important thing I could do. There weren’t a lot of words, just a wounded soul crying out for help.

Several hours had passed when I heard the shuffling of feet. I couldn’t, didn’t want to open my eyes. Big as I am, some things are too heavy for me to lift, like swollen eyelids over red-rimmed eyes.

A gentle hand reached under my arm at the elbow. It was small. It was warm. It was tender. A moment later I felt the weight of someone’s head on my shoulder. It was Andi. I recognized her scent, a scent I longed for many times. Uncle Bart must have told them where I was.

A larger hand rested on my left shoulder. A slight squeeze. A deep sigh. No words. Again, I realized that the professor must have been a good priest.

The acrid/sweet scent of cigarette smoke flavored the air. Normally I hate the odor, but this time it said Brenda was here. I heard her take a ragged breath.

Only one was missing: Daniel. But if Brenda was here, Daniel had to be here, too.

I opened my eyes and saw his small form in front of me, just out of arm’s reach. I knew so little about Daniel. He saw things no one else did, he almost never spoke, but he had a courage no child should have to have. We stared at each other for a moment. I forced a smile. He burst into tears and ran into my arms.

He cried. I broke into sobs. Sobs loud enough to embarrass me. I was brought up to believe that men didn’t cry in public, especially big guys like me. I wish that were true. It’s not. I melted into the chair, comforted by the touch of four other misfits . . . friends as dear to me as family.

“They’ve been at it all night.” Brenda moved to the seat the professor had vacated a couple of hours before. He and Andi had moved to the corner of the room, each fixated on their iPads. Brenda jerked her head in their direction. “They’re obsessed with figuring out the kid’s scroll.”

“I’m glad they’re working on it,” I said. “I got no idea what it is.”

“Me neither. I’m pretty useless in the intellect department.”

“Don’t say that, Miss Brenda. You’re smart. Better, you’re wise. We would be a much weaker team without you.”

She studied me. “Is that what we are, Cowboy? A team? Really?”

“Yes.”

“I dunno. We barely tolerate each other.”

It was good to be talking again. “Teams fight, Miss Brenda. Don’t let that throw you. My dad thinks football represents life. I think it’s just a game, but he sees more. In some ways I think he’s right.” I shifted my bulk in the seat. “Look, I’ve been playing football since my peewee days, and it has taught me a few things.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not a great player, but I get to play because of my size. I’m not the smartest guy on the field, but I’m not dumb. We need the really smart, the really fast, the really strong, the really determined. There has to be a mix. That means players get on each other’s nerves. They fight during practice; they fight in the locker room. They call each other names and blame one another for just about everything. Come game time, they are a unit. The other team is the enemy, not one another. So they pull together. Or as every coach I’ve had has said, ‘Pull together or pull apart.’ That’s us. We bicker, but I know that when I need you—like right now—you’ll be there for me. And I will always be there for you guys.”

“I dunno, Cowboy.”

“I do. Daniel needs you. Daniel and me are buds . . .” I turned to him. “Ain’t that right, Daniel?” As usual, he didn’t speak, but held up a clenched hand. I gave him a fist bump. “Daniel needs more than a buddy, he needs you. I don’t know what part Daniel plays in all this, but I know he’s part of the team. I know you’re part of the team. You are . . .”

“I’m what?”

“I was going to say that you are the perfect mother for Daniel.”

She pulled back as if I had slapped her. She worked her mouth like she was going to say something but couldn’t get the words to flow. She looked to me like someone with a secret.

She collected herself. “The way you said that makes me think you were going to say something else.”

I hesitated.

“Go ahead, Cowboy. I’m tough. I can take it.”

She had found a way to make me chuckle. “You’re tough all right. Sometimes you’re downright scary. I mean that as a compliment. What I was going to say is that there are days when I think you’re a mother to all of us.”

“Shuddup! No way. I ain’t that old coot’s mother.”

“He’s not an old coot, Miss Brenda. The professor is just sixty.”

“Ancient. A fossil.”

“And you know how to handle him. It takes you and Andi both to keep him on the path.”

Daniel shot to his feet and looked to the far wall. I’m glad Brenda, me, Andi, and the professor were the only ones in the room. I didn’t have to worry about what others would think.

“Daniel, what is it, honey?” Brenda slipped from her seat and knelt next to the boy. He continued to stare at the wall. “Is your friend-who’s-not-Harvey back?”

He nodded. The professor and Andi stared at him.

Judging by the tilt of Daniel’s head, his friend had to be seven feet tall. We’re pretty sure Daniel sees angels, and who knows how tall they are.

“Is something wrong?” Brenda asked. Daniel smiled, then the corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes widened. He turned sharply, stepped to me, took my hand, and made me rise. I let him lead me to the waiting room door. He stopped.

Ten seconds later, a doctor appeared. “I’m looking for family of the young girl brought in this morning.”

The others were on their feet a moment later. “She doesn’t have family, Doctor. I’m Bjorn Christensen, her friend.”

“That complicates things. There are laws that keep me from revealing patient information—”

Brenda stepped up. “Tank—I mean, Bjorn—is the sheriff’s nephew. He’s working with law enforcement on the little girl’s situation.” She sure knew how to take over a conversation.

The doctor studied Brenda the way a prisoner studied his executioner. “Still—”

“You want us to get Sheriff Christensen on the phone?” Brenda hit the last name hard.

“No. It’s been a long morning.”

He looked at the others, then directed his attention to me. “She came through the surgery, but she still has a long way to go. She lost a lot of blood and we had to keep hanging units. We also did a lot of stitching, but she’s gonna make it.”

“Praise God,” I said.

Brenda was still in control. “So the stab wounds were deep?”

“Those weren’t knife wounds. Those are bite marks.”

It was time for me to sit down again.

The professor found his seat. “I’m starting to hate this job.”