Page 103 of The Happy Month
“We can arrange that when you’re better.”
“I’m fairly certain that Vera had a girlfriend named Gigi who was married. I think it was Gigi’s husband who killed her. It’s possible Patrick might be able to tell us who Gigi was.”
“I’ll leave your name at the front desk at the home. You can go whenever you’re ready.”
He stood up, as though he was about to leave, so I said, “Oh, yeah… My partner is interested in purchasing Patrick’s things you have in storage. He’s offering ten thousand dollars.”
Edwin stared at me a minute. He nodded, “I’ll talk to my brother about that.”
“Let me give you Ronnie’s number. If you decide to do it, just call him directly.”
If he called me after they’d given me a pill, I’d never remember. He felt through his pockets and found a pen and an old receipt. I gave him Ronnie’s number. I imagined he must have a cellular phone somewhere. He must have forgotten it. Or maybe he still had a car phone.
Saturday morning they put me in a wheelchair, gave me a prescription for another three days of pain medication with the instruction to take Tylenol afterward, and wheeled me downstairs where Ronnie and Junior were waiting with the Legend. The orderly helped me get in. It was only a little painful. They had to hook the seatbelt up for me. I couldn’t make that kind of move.
I was taking very focused, deep breaths. All we had to do was drive home, which would take about ten minutes, maybe fifteen, and once we got there all I had to do was limp into the house and then go straight to the couch.
“I’m going to be on the couch, right? I don’t have to go upstairs, do I?” I asked once we’d closed all the doors.
“We’ll start you on the couch,” Ronnie said. “You’ll need to go upstairs eventually. The bathroom’s up there.”
“Okay.”
Junior was in the backseat. As we pulled out of the parking lot, he said, “I rented a stack of videos for you.You’re going to be thoroughly entertained. There’s nothing on television though… I can’t wait until they start the new season ofMelrose Place. Just a suggestion dear, but next time get run over in September.”
“Premature attempted murder,” I mumbled, loud enough for Ronnie to hear. He chuckled as he pulled into traffic.
Junior ignored us and kept chattering, “John had us get you prune juice and bran flakes.”
“Am I ninety?”
“No darling,” Junior said. “The pain medication you’re on acts like a cork.”
“I don’t want to be having this conversation.” I decided to change the subject. “What’s going on in the world? What have I missed.”
“Your newspapers are stacked by the front door. Nobody touched them. Today’s headline said Dole picked his running mate, someone named Kemp. It’s likeDull and Duller. Who wants to see that?”
“I’m glad you’re taking an interest in politics.”
“I like Clinton. A man who can’t keep his dick in his pants is always fascinating.”
“I doubt Hillary shares your enthusiasm.”
“I have the feeling, while the cat’s away the mice are running everything.”
“Maybe you could get a job as a political commentator.”
Before Junior could answer, Ronnie said, “I’m going to drop you off and go show a house. I’ll be back by five and we’ll walk around the block.”
“Yeah, not today,” I said. Somehow sitting there in the passenger’s seat felt like too much exertion.
“Doctor’s orders,” Ronnie said.
“Doctor or John?”
“Same thing.”
Sunday morning, Lydia came by with some fabulous donuts and a latte for me. I was cocooned on the sofa, and she sat in one of the orange chairs.
