“But howishe?” Mrs. Stark asked.“Whereis he?”
“They haven’t told us yet,” Fred said. He was as cool and competent as he’d been all along, and I didn’t believe anymore that he’d been a disaster as an airman. “He’ll be in surgery. It was quite a scalp wound.”
It was at least another hour, or so I judged, before we heard more. The gold watch my father had given me wascovered in blood and had stopped, and I spared a thought for it before letting it go. My mind was with Joe, and my heart, too. And when a man came out and called my name, I nearly staggered as I rose.
“Here,” I said. “I’m here.”
The doctor looked tired. He said, “We’ve cleaned the wounds and stitched him up, and he’s resting. The biggest danger now is infection. We’re pumping him full of antibiotics and will be doing it for quite a while. I understand it was a mountain lion.”
“Yes,” I said, then, in a louder voice, “Yes. A mountain lion. It took him from … from behind and knocked him … knocked him …” I was shaking again.
“And you fought it off,” the doctor said. “That’s what we heard.”
I nodded numbly.
“That was quite the heroic effort,” the doctor said. “How are you feeling now? All right?”
“Uh … yes,” I said. “Can I see Joe?”
“Maybe later,” he said. “Your husband says that you’re a hemophilia carrier. Have you been checked over?”
“Yes,” I said. “But Joe?—"
Mrs. Stark said, “When can we see our son?” Her tone sharp, worried.
“Talk to the nurses,” the doctor said. “That was a heck of a brave thing to do, Mrs. Stark.” It took me a moment to realize that he was talking to me. “Take care of yourself, now,” he said. And walked away.
They finally let me see Joe at two o’clock the next afternoon: the start of visiting hours.
I went in with his mother. I’d wanted to be with him alone,of course, but how could I have denied her? She and Mr. Stark had stayed in our house the night before. Susie had cooked dinner for all of us, which had been so kind of her, while Mrs. Stark had taken care of breakfast. As for me, I’d moved through the house like a ghost, feeling only halfway here.
Infection.
A mountain lion’s teeth and claws.
Believe,I’d told myself as I lay sleepless in our bed, staring into the dark.Believe.
Joe’s face, when we were allowed into the room at last, was nearly as white as the bandages on his head. He raised the ghost of a grin for us, though. I wanted to hold him, but I didn’t know where he hurt. When I stood there, hesitating, he took my hand and said, “That makes twice.” His voice weaker than usual, but sounding exactly like Joe.
“Wh-what?” I asked, my chin and lips and hands trembling like leaves.
“That you’ve saved my life,” he said. “Come sit by me and hold my hand. Hi, Mom. You OK?”
She had a handkerchief to her lips, but now, she nodded and tried to smile. “Thanks be to God,” she said. “Thanks be to God, you’re alive.”
“Well, God and Marguerite,” Joe said. “If we’d had her fighting with us, we’d have won the war sooner.”
“Ha,” I said, doing my best to smile. It wasn’t easy, since I was crying again into my own handkerchief. “I’ve never felt such rage. Never in my life.”
“’Though she be but little,’ Joe quoted, ‘she is fierce.’”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,”I said.
“I’m beginning to think you’ll be all right,” his mother said, taking a seat beside me and touching Joe’s leg as if she needed to touch himsomewhere,to reassure herself that he was really alive. “If you’re back to quoting Shakespeare.”
“Mm,” Joe said, but he was still looking at me. “You nevergot to tell me what you wanted to say yesterday. Tell me now. By the way—I could have a bald spot. Will you still love me then?”
“I loved my father,” I said. “And I love you. It seems that I love brave men who have been wounded and carry on.”
