Page 70 of Steadfast (True North)
“Let me look into it,” Teen Doctor said, scribbling something on my chart. Translation:I don’t have a clue what to do for you. “I’m going to evaluate our options.”
“Good,” I said. “Take this shit out of my arm while you evaluate.”
Nobody moved.
That’s when I figured out how to solve the problem myself. Raising the IV hand to my mouth, I secured the little tube in my teeth and—
“Hey!” the nurse said, grabbing my hand. “I’ll take it out.”
And, God bless her, she did, while my twelve-year-old doctor slipped out of the room.
The nurse put a Band-Aid over the IV wound and then gave me an appraising look. “How is your pain for now? Is it manageable?”
“Yeah.” The pain was the least of my problems.
“I’m going to bring you a drink of water.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“Who can we call for you?” she asked. “You were brought in alone.”
“How did I get here?” I asked suddenly.
“Ambulance. I believe they said your father called 9-1-1.”
“Did he, now.”Impressive.
“Should we call him?” the nurse asked.
“No,” I said quickly. “He doesn’t really drive because he’s drunk all the time.”
She frowned. “Who then?”
“Nobody.”
“A friend?” she pressed. “Unless there are complications from your surgery, you’ll be out of here in a couple of days. Your arm is broken and you’re recovering from major surgery. You’ll need somewhere to go.”
I closed my eyes and fought off a shudder. “And I’ll be detoxing. Don’t forget that.”
She squeezed my good hand. “There’s got to be someone.”
Sure, lady. Because addicts have so many friends. I couldn’t even ask Sophie, who would probably want to help me. But she couldn’t. And there was nobody whose job it was to look after assholes like me…
My eyes snapped open. Actually, there was someone who did that job on purpose. “Father Peters,” I said. “At the Catholic church.”
“Okay, honey. You mean St. Augustine?”
No, that didn’t sound right. “The church in Colebury.” Fuck, I didn’t even know where I was. The hospital outside of Montpelier, probably.
“All right,” she said soothingly. “First water, then I’ll call Father Peters.”
She walked away, and I closed my eyes again. When would I stop being surprised at the shit that happened to me? In the back of my loopy, angry brain, I knew that the IV and the broken arm weren’t even the worst of my problems. The assholes who’d beat me up were still out there, still looking for their missing stash. And I would probably get a visit from a police officer, too.
Fuck my life.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jude
