Page 70 of The Bone Code
Leméac. The incident on Laurier. Ryan.
I grabbed my phone. It showed no missed calls.
I threw on slacks and a sweater, then did a half-hearted job with my morning toilette. After feeding Birdie, who eyed me with disbelief, I gathered items I thought Ryan might want. Then, avoiding eye contact with the cat, I grabbed my jacket and purse and bolted.
Saturday afternoon. Traffic was light. Even with a stop for coffee and a croissant, I was at the hospital by one forty-five.
The nicely permed lady at reception was named Veronique. I told Veronique I was there for Andrew Ryan. Her red-lacquered nails clacked on a keyboard. Lots of keys, lots of clacks. Then she looked up and informed me that the patient was in room 1807.
I crossed to the elevators, pleased that Ryan had progressed from the ICU. Irked that I hadn’t been called as promised.
Everyone around me had flowers, balloons, or stuffedcreatures. I was debating a trip to the gift shop when the elevator doors whooshed open. I boarded and ascended with the gaggle of gift bearers.
The room was a single with a standard-issue bed, swivel-arm table, chair, and narrow wardrobe. Bad floral curtains were open, allowing a pretty good view of the complex.
The patient was propped on pillows eating Jell-O from a small plastic cup.
Big Ryan smile as I came through the door. “Bonjour,ma chère.”
“Nice digs,” I said.
“Exquisite,” he said.
“You look like someone beat the snot out of you.” Low-keying it, feeling tears threatening at the sight of his face.
“You should see the other guy.”
I crossed to Ryan. He put the Jell-O on hold to receive my kiss.
“I brought you some things.” Holding up the overnighter. “PJs, dopp kit, phone, the Stephen King you were reading. I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”
“You’re the best.”
“That’s why they pay me the mediocre bucks.” I placed the bag on a shelf in the wardrobe.
“How’s the Birdcat?” Ryan asked.
“Annoyed at being left alone so much.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“He will.”
As Ryan finished the Jell-O, with far more enthusiasm than the green goop warranted, I dragged the chair to his bedside.
“You’re really rocking the new look.” Ryan’s hair was spiking in clumps around the bandage taped to his head.
“Below this dressing is manly bare bone.” Pointing with the spoon to his right parietal.
“You could tattoo it.”
“There’s also a wee hole.”
“Work it into the design.”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
“You seem extraordinarily chipper,” I said.
