Extraits

“You look happy,” Micah commented as he entered the hospital room.

Greg raised his eyes heavenward. “You have no idea. They let me take a shower this morning.”

He laughed. “Wow. How… exciting.”

Greg speared him with a look. “You try having a nurse give you sponge baths for almost a week, and see how you like it.”

Micah chuckled. “How did you manage with that?” He pointed to the leg cast that encased most of Greg’s left leg, stiff and black, with Velcro fastenings.

“They covered it with plastic. I still had to sit on a stool in the shower, but oh my God, the sheer joy of being able to wash myself—alone.”

“You can use my bathroom while you’re staying with us.” Micah smiled. “It’s a walk-in shower. No bath to climb in and out of. Plus, there’s another on the first floor.”

“Oh, that sounds great.” Greg grinned. “And now for the good news. They’re discharging me today.”

Micah beamed. The doctors had mentioned this the previous day, but everything had depended on Greg’s latest examination. “Excellent. I’ll call Dad and let him know we’re good to go.”

Greg pointed to the chair next to the window, where two shiny crutches leaned against it. “Look what I got.” His eyes widened. “Oh. I forgot. The physical therapist came by earlier. She said someone’s going to come out to your house to work with me. I don’t have to travel anyplace.”

“That’s great!”

Greg nodded, smiling widely. “Apparently, they’ll contact you, to make arrangements and put together a schedule. And she says I need to spend as much time as I can, getting around on the crutches. She said immobility is not healthy. She also said not to overdo it.” He snickered. “What she actually said was, not to be signing up to run in any 400-yard sprints just yet.”

Micah laughed. “Yeah, well, we’ll be there to keep an eye on you.”

Two police officers had come and gone, after questioning Micah thoroughly about the state the guy had been in, where exactly Micah had found him, and what had made him stop in the first place. They told him detectives would return the following day to check on the guy, to question him if he regained consciousness.

Micah sat on a chair, darting glances toward the door where he knew the young man was being treated. What are they doing in there? How long does it take to make sure he’s gonna be okay?

“Hey, honey?” He looked up, to find a girl holding out a plastic cup of something steaming. “Here. It’s just a little hot chocolate. You look like you need it.”

Micah smiled. “Thanks. That’s really kind of you.”

She returned his smile, her cheeks dimpling. “You’re welcome.” Then she walked toward the desk, waving at the nurse behind it. Micah’s perusal was interrupted when a doctor came through the doors he’d been staring at, heading for Micah.

“Mr. Trant?”

Micah put down his cup on the chair beside him, and got to his feet. “How is he?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t give out that information.”

“Can’t you at least tell me if he’s going to be okay?” Micah had sort of anticipated that response, but it still frustrated him.

The doctor’s expression was grave. “To be honest, he’s a very lucky young man. It could have been much worse.”

“Can… can I see him?”

The doctor smiled. “Once he’s settled in ICU, a nurse will take you to him. He’s very fortunate that you found him when you did.” He patted Micah on the arm and went back through the doors.

Micah retook his seat and sipped his hot beverage. He didn’t care what time it was: all he wanted was to see the guy breathing, to hear the reassuring beep of a heart monitor.

He could wait all night for that.