Chapter 13
Gage rapped lightly on the door to his teaching colleague Louis Murdock’s hospital room, successfully concealing his shocked reaction to the number fading bruises and Steri-strips covering the man’s tawny-brown face. It was more than a week since the hit-and-run, and Louis’s wife revealed he was now able to receive visitors. She also reassured Gage that her husband was expected to have a full recovery, but only after several months of inpatient and outpatient rehabilitation.
“Room service,” Gage announced cheerfully.
“I hope you brought some gumbo, because I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to tolerate this hospital grub.”
Gage sat on a chair next to the bed. “The food may not be what you want, but I must say your accommodations are rather nice.”
Louis nodded. “It’s not too bad. I have views of the river, flat-screen TV, and all the legal painkillers I want whenever I want to get high.”
Any mention of narcotics to Gage was akin to someone shoving a sharp object under his fingernail. He wasn’t a neophyte when it came to drugs; on occasion he’d smoked marijuana before it became legal in many states, but that was in his youth. It was only after he’d married and become a father that he stopped.
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
A pair of light-brown eyes met his. “It comes and goes. I usually take something to help me sleep through the night, but I hold off during the day.” Louis closed his eyes. “I still can’t believe that sonofabitch knew he’d hit me but still didn’t stop.”
Gage studied the face of the man whom he thought of as his mentor since becoming an artist-in residence. During his tenure he met with him biweekly, although it wasn’t required, to keep Louis abreast of the direction in which he wanted to take the jazz band. He thought of the man as a musical genius who was able to engage students to appreciate music that went beyond rap and hip-hop. Louis played high school basketball and was offered athletic scholarships from several colleges, but his love of music won out when he decided to go the Crane School of Music. Now approaching sixty, he had not changed much from the tall, gangly boy with a tawny complexion and sparkling light-brown eyes.
“It may take a while, but the police will eventually catch him.”
Louis opened his eyes. “My wife told me they’re checking every body shop within twenty square miles, because it’s certain the vehicle has front-end damage. You said you wanted me to look over the proposal for the spring concert.”
Gage handed him a folder. Louis reached for a pair of half-glasses on the bed next to his right hand. “These are the preliminary strategies from those on the concert committee.” He had spent countless hours researching the evolution of music and dance before presenting it to the committee for their input. In the end he was left with a healthy respect for the amount of time and energy it took to put on a production.
Five minutes later, Louis peered over his reading glasses at Gage, a slow smile parting his still bruised lips. “I like it. Karla’s going to be in seventh heaven because her drama and musical theater students will have a major role in this production.” He took off the glasses. “I knew I was right to recommend you to be an artist-in-residence, because your handiwork is all over this production.”
“That’s because I have an incredible mentor.”
“Cut the bull, Gage. You got into Julliard while they rejected me.”
“And do you think getting into the Crane School of Music is like a walk in the park?” he countered. “You’ve taught music all of your life, while I’m still dabbling in it.”
Louis ran a hand over his thinning, cropped gray hair. “You don’t have to dabble in it if you stay on as head of Lafitte’s music department.”
Gage shook his head. “No! I’ll stay on until the end of the school year, and then I’m done. Done as department head and done as an artist-in-residence. I came back to the States twenty-three years ago to help my brother run the family business, and now it’s time I step up and do it again.”
“You’re going to give up music?”
“Not altogether. I’ll still play a few sets at Jazzes. And besides, you’re too young to retire.”
“Don’t forget I’m sixty.”
“You’re still too young to retire,” Gage repeated. What he wanted to tell Louis was that if he hadn’t had any other options, he would accept the responsibility of becoming a full-time teacher. He’d only earned a degree in music education as a backup, but now it was obvious his backup had backfired. “I’m sorry, Louis, but my first priority is to my family, so I suggest you forget about retiring and come back to do what you do best. And remember, I’ll always be available if you ever need my input on a project.”
Louis nodded. “That’s good to hear. I suppose I’m just indulging in a little self-pity because I spend most my day in this damn bed.”
“When are you scheduled to leave the hospital?”
“My doctor said as soon as they get a bed at the rehab facility, I’m out of here. My coccyx is healing, so it’s just my legs that don’t work.”
Gage patted Louis’s hand. “You’ll be up and running again in no time. And once you’re settled at the rehab center, call me and I’ll bring you some gumbo.”
Louis smiled. “I’m going to hold you to that.” He patted the folder. “Can I keep this?”
“Yes. I made that copy for you. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks for coming.”
