“Why were you going to phone me?”
“What happened actually involves you. You’re going to need to intervene with the cops somehow. You remember a patient called Big John? Because he sure remembers you.”
John! “Of course I do. How is he?”
“He’s currently behind bars for attacking your friend.”
Marion felt the blood rush from her face to her toes. She glanced toward the coffee bar, where Sassy stood. “John did that? Is she all right?”
“Seems to be fine. Just, well, a bit shocked. She’s tough.”
“I warned the board that John was dangerous,” she said, her voice sharp with anger. “I can’t tell you how many reports I filed, but they still released him. I’m not surprised he attacked someone. I just wish it hadn’t been Sassy.”
“What’ll happen to him now?”
“There might be space for him back at the institute in one of the smaller buildings. They are putting the most severe cases in there for now. I’ll make sure he gets the care he needs. But poor Sassy. She must have been terrified. And you—she was right. You’re a hero.”
He rolled his eye. “Not exactly. Just good timing.”
Sassy was still at the bar, chatting with a waitress, purposefully taking her time. Bless the girl. Marion took a calming breath and tried to think more clearly.
“Tell me about you,” she said, holding his gaze. “How have you been?”
The one-shoulder lift. “Same old. You?”
“No. You don’t get off that easy. I’ve thought of you constantly since you left the hospital. Tell me what it’s like for you out here.”
“I’d rather not.” When she didn’t look away, he sighed. “I’m still the enemy, it’s just a different battlefield. When people find out I’ve been in Vietnam, they call me a baby killer. Me! One guy spat at me.” He dropped his chin. “I spent a night in jail after I pounded him senseless.”
To be alone, targeted and traumatized, was too much for anyone to take sober. She wondered if he was drinking, but when she leaned in, she didn’t smell it on him.
“The news hasn’t done the returning soldiers a service, that’s for sure,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Where have you been living?”
“Here and there.”
Nowhere, she thought with alarm. “Do you have a job?”
“Nope.” He scowled. “Don’t tell me to get one, either. I’ll find one when I’m good and ready.”
“Have you been taking your—”
“Not all the time, no.” He dropped his gaze to the wooden table between them and followed a crack with one finger. “I… I had a bad night a couple of days ago, and I took a couple extra pills. Poor choice. So I stopped taking them altogether.”
Marion was holding her breath, trying not to visualize what he’d done. She watched his finger slide across the tabletop. “And how has that been?”
He kept his gaze averted. “Let it go, Marion. I’m all right. I can do it. ’Nam was worse. Just not so cold.”
His hands were dry and cracked from living outside. She longed to reach over and warm them in hers.
“I’ll get you some warm gloves. Those ones look useless.”
“You don’t have to.”
She gave him a gentle smile, though he still wasn’t looking at her. “I may not officially be your doctor anymore, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try to take care of you.”
At last, he lifted his gaze to hers, and she saw something sad in its depths. Or was it fear? Resignation? It reminded her of when he told her how useless he felt, stuck in the hospital instead of being with his friends in the jungle, facing death.
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” he said quietly.
