Page 7 of The Map Home
Tossing his apron the onto the counter, he jogged toward the front doors, calling out “I’ll be right back,” on his way.
The ambulance was only a few blocks from the pub. The lights were still on, flashing eerily over the crusty snow and darkened street and storefronts. An odd feeling of premonition crept up on Tad, making him shiver. The responders had stopped midway between Jake’s Taproom and Curtis’s apartment building.
The temperature outside were shockingly cold. He darted back inside and grabbed his coat off one of the hooks behind the kitchen door.
“Something’s happened down the street,” he told the kid washing the last of the dishes.Tony,that was his name. “I’m going to check it out. I’ll lock up, so just let yourself out the back if I’m not back by the time everything is cleaned up.”
The bad feeling in the pit of Tad’s stomach wasn’t subsiding.
“Right-o,” Tony replied, his expression concerned.
Back outside, Tad carefully made his way toward the scene. It didn’t appear to be a car accident as there were no sheriff’s vehicles—at least, none yet. As he drew closer, one of the responders stepped out, holding her hand up to stop him from coming closer.
“Give the man some privacy, okay? We’ve got this.”
“I’m not an ambulance chaser,” Tad said. “I’m worried about a friend of mine who lives just down the block, and I know he was walking home. Can you at least tell me that whoever is hurtisn’tCurtis Lewis?”
The woman grimaced, giving Tad his answer.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Tad? Tad Gillespie?” Curtis called out weakly. “Is that your voice, or am I hallucinating?”
The EMT lowered her hand and Tad moved closer to where Curtis had been lifted onto a gurney. The other responder was steering it and Curtis toward the back of the ambulance, stopping when he saw Tad.
“Yeah, it’s me, Curtis,” Tad confirmed. “Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”
Tad stepped a little closer, stopping by the side of the stretcher. Curtis was clearly in pain. His face had a pinched look to it and his lips a thin slash.
“I was being careful,” he insisted. “I was walking along, minding my own business, when my feet flew out from under me. Next thing I knew, I was looking up and not down. Luckily I got my breath back and started to call for help. Someone must have heard me and called 9-1-1. I don’t think it was more than five or ten minutes.”
Even in the low light cast from the streetlamps, Tad could see Curtis’s face was pale and sweaty with pain.
“We need to get Mr. Lewis to the hospital,” the first EMT said.
Tad started to move back and out of the way. “Is there anything I can do for you? Feed your cat?” Did Curtis have a pet? Tad didn’t know.
Curtis pulled his left arm out from underneath the silver space blanket they’d tucked around him to grab Tad’s hand with a surprisingly strong grip and pull him back toward the gurney. His right leg was wrapped with an inflatable split to keep it immobilized, and he had a bloody-looking scrape on the side of his forehead.
“No cat, but promise me you’ll take care of The Chronicle. You’re the only one I trust,” Curtis rasped.
The only other person at The Chronicle was Honey Sweeting, and Tad knew from experience that she and Curtis butted heads more often than not. But her advice and gossip column sold papers, and Tad knew that her “society” pieces—things like engagements, obituaries, and the like—kept revenues strong as well. “Of course,” Tad promised. “Whatever you need.”
“Don’t let Sweeting get her claws into my work, nowhere near my computer. I’ve done a number on my leg and may be down for the count for a little while.”
“Sir, we need to load you up.”
“Fine, fine,” Curtis grumped. “Take me away to the one place in town where I am almost guaranteed to get sick.”
Shaking their heads, the EMTs slid Curtis into the back of the ambulance. One climbed inside with him and the other went around and got behind the wheel. Lights no longer spinning, the bus drove off down the street and took the first right, heading toward the community hospital.
“Well, this sucks.”
As if to confirm his opinion, a drop of icy slush dropped from somewhere overhead and slipped down the back of Tad’s neck.
The next morning,before driving out to his folks’ place, Tad took a detour. He figured he’d head to the hospital to check in on Curtis and ask if he’d been serious about Tad keeping an eye on things at the paper.
From the hospital lobby, he was directed to another desk, where a tired-looking nurse with a badge identifying him asEvanpointed Tad in the direction of Curtis’s room.
