“Is this a one-time thing? You worked a long time to get this wedding job. If you blow it, your reputation will be ruined.”
“I know, Dante. Believe me, I know what I’m risking here.”
“You didn’t answer my question about it being a one-time thing,” Dante presses.
“That’s because I don’t have an answer yet. Look, hopefully when I get there, he’ll be surrounded by lots of people to take care of him. Friends, cops, family members, a girlfriend or many girlfriends.”
“God, I hope he’s surrounded,” Dante says. “I hope that cop has so many people crowded around him that you can buy a vase of flowers at the gift shop with a nice card and leave.”
“I do too, but if that’s the case, why wasn’t there anyone else at the hospital last night? Not even his parents were there. Tex told me his dad has dementia and his mom can’t leave him alone. Other than that, I don’t know one thing about this man’s life.”
“That’s the whole point,” Dante says. “You’re not part of his life. You can’t insert yourself in this man’s life. He’s a stranger. Don’t be weird about it.”
“I won’t do that. I do have manners, you know.”
“Okay, drive safe,” Dante says. “Text me when you get there. And eat something, for the love of God, because I know you haven’t eaten.”
He’s right. My stomach is empty, my ribs hurt and the coffee from the Mr. Coffee in the condo is burning a hole through my gut. I stop at a gas station and buy a granola bar and a bottle of water. I eat it standing up while pumping gas. Then I get back in the car and drive faster.
I follow the GPS to the hospital and park in the visitor lot. Now that I’m here, I’m nervous. What am I going to say, and to whom?
I go inside. The waiting room is nicer than the one in Panama City. Newer chairs, a better TV, a fish tank in the corner with slow-moving goldfish that go around and around in endless circles.
I don’t go to the information desk or ask for a room number. I’m not family and they’re not going to tell me anything. I’m not even a friend.
I sit there for an hour. Maybe longer. People come and go. Families with red eyes and a man in scrubs eating a sandwich. Two women holding hands in the corner, not talking, just holding on. A child asleep across three chairs with a jacket over her like a blanket. All of them waiting to find out if their lives are going to be the same tomorrow as they were yesterday. Most of them won’t be.
I’m counting the goldfish making their hundredth lap when a deep voice says my name.
“Benji? What are you doing here?”
I look up. Tex is standing over me. He looks different today, no apron, clean shirt and jeans. But the exhaustion sits deeper on his face now. He’s been up all night and running on nothing but adrenaline. He’s holding two coffees and was heading toward the elevators when he spotted me.
“Hi,” I say, straightening up.
“How did you know he was here?” he asks.
“I went to the sheriff’s office this morning to give my statement. The detective mentioned they transferred him here.”
He stares at me for a second and frowns. “How long have you been sitting down here?”
“A little while.”
He sits down in the chair next to mine. The metal groans under him. He sets one of the coffees on the armrest between us, leans back and sighs.
“I guess you’re wondering how he is?” he asks, glancing over at me.
“Yeah, that’s why I’m here.”
“He’s awake. He’s talking. He’s already driving the nurses crazy, which means he’s still Mickey. They did more imaging this morning before the transfer. The swelling’s still there but at least they took off the collar holding his neck in place. They’re saying it could be days, could be weeks before they know the extent of the injury.” He stops talking and takes a sip of his coffee. “He can’t feel anything at all below the waist, but it might not be permanent.”
My throat closes and I grip the side of my chair.
“Listen,” Tex says. He turns back to me and his face is deeply tired. “This isn’t your fault. I need you to hear that. Mickey doesn’t blame you. I don’t blame you. The men who beat you up and brought a gun into my bar, that’s who’s at fault. Not you. You don’t need to keep coming to the hospital because you think he’s here because of you.”
“Sheila told me to leave your bar three times and I didn’t listen.”
“Sheila tells a lot of people a lot of things. Most of them don’t listen. That doesn’t make them responsible for what other men do.”
