Page 32 of A Matter of Pedigree
“Okay,” said Carole, rising stiffly from her chair and bending over Frank, gently waking his shoulder until he woke up.
“Whuh … what’s the matter?” he demanded, snapping to attention.
“Nothing. The nurse says he’s doing fine and we can go home, get a shower and something to eat.”
Frank looked at the bed where Frank-O was still sleeping. “I’d feel better if he was awake,” said Frank.
“He’s sedated,” said the nurse. “They won’t be waking him up until this afternoon, at the earliest.”
Frank yawned and stretched, then stood up. “Okay,” he said, holding up a finger, “but the least little change, you give us a call, right?”
“Right,” agreed the nurse.
The way home took them past Connie’s condo, and Carole suggested they stop in and tell her about her brother. “I want to do it in person, Frank,” she told him. “They’ve always been real close, and I know she’s going to be upset.”
“Okay,” agreed Frank, whose stomach was rumbling. “Not too long, though.”
“Sure,” said Carole, thinking she would stay as long as she was needed.
Frank parked in the visitor spot in front of Connie’s town house, and together they walked up the little path and stood on the stoop. Carole rang the bell, and they waited for what seemed a long time before a puzzled Connie opened the door. She was dressed for work in a gray pantsuit and holding her purse and a tote bag, ready to leave. “Mom! Dad! What are you doing here?”
“Uh, we got somethin’ important to tell you,” said Frank.
“I was just leaving,” said Connie.
“We’re comin’ in,” said Frank, starting through the doorway and forcing Connie to step aside. Carole followed him.
“So what’s so important that it’s going to make me late for work,” snapped Connie, impatient to leave.
“It’s your brother …” began Carole.
Connie’s eyes widened. “Ohmigod, is he okay?”
“He’s in the ICU; they’re keeping an eye on him.”
Connie sat down on her sofa; she went in big for the retro-fifties look, and it was lean and minimalist, behind a kidney-shaped coffee table. She picked up the one throw pillow; it was a bull’s-eye pattern, and she held it in her lap, hugging it. “The ICU. What happened?”
“There was a fire down at the Factory, and they pulled him out, unconscious,” said Frank.
“Was he, um, burned?” Connie could barely make herself say the word.
“They say not, but he’s got smoke inhalation,” said Carole, seating herself beside Connie and giving her a hug.
“That’s awful. Can I go see him?”
“Maybe this afternoon,” said Frank, who had plopped himself down, mansplaying his legs, on an uncomfortable upholstered chair with bare wood arms. “They say they’re going to try to wake him then.”
Connie had gone white as a sheet. “What?”
“They’ve got him sedated, for now,” offered Carole, taking her hand and squeezing it.
“Uh, so what’s the plan?” demanded Frank, standing up. “We gotta get some breakfast; we were at the hospital all night.”
“I’d offer you something,” began Connie, looking blank, “but I don’t think I’ve got anything.”
“That’s okay, honey,” said Carole, still holding her hand. “You go on to work; keep yourself busy, that’s the best thing. I’ll let you know if anything changes. Your dad and I are gonna eat something and shower and head back to the hospital.”
Frank was ready to go. “So, uh, let’s get a move on.”
