Ann said, “She’s not processing everything, Gunther. She’s been in a coma since Monday night. Please back off, okay?”
But backing off was not in Gunther’s playbook. He said, “I know a great lawyer and we’re going to sue that bastard for everything he has. It was all his fault, right, Lacy?”
Ann exhaled with as much noise as possible, then stood and walked out of the room.
Lacy shook her head slightly and said, “I don’t remember.” Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
—
By mid-afternoon, Gunther had laid claim to at least half of Lacy’s private room. He had arranged two chairs, a cart on wheels, a night table that once held a lamp, and the small fold-out sofa into a configuration that allowed him to set up shop with his laptop, iPad, not one but two cell phones, and a stack of paperwork. Nurse Ratched had objected, but she had quickly learned that any comment from her would be met with a blistering and threatening response. Trudy and Ronald popped in a couple of times to check on Lacy, but got the impression they were now trespassers. Finally, Ann threw in the towel. Late in the day, she informed her two children that she was headed back to Clearwater for a day or two; that she would be back as soon as possible; and that if Lacy needed anything to please call.
When Lacy napped, Gunther either stayed off the phone or stepped into the hallway, and worked feverishly, but quietly, on his laptop. When she was awake, he was either in her face or growling on the phone as another deal teetered on the brink. He repeatedly badgered the nurses and orderlies to bring him more coffee, and when the coffee didn’t materialize he stomped down to the cafeteria, where the food looked “dreadful.” The doctors made their rounds, each glaring at him as he seemed ready for any confrontation. They were careful not to provoke.
For Lacy, though, his energy was infectious, even stimulating. He amused her, though she was still afraid to laugh. Once when she awoke, he was standing next to her bed, wiping tears from his cheeks.
At six, Nurse Ratched appeared and said her shift would be ending. She asked Gunther about his plans, and he replied, rather sternly, “I’m not leaving. This sofa is here for a reason. And for what you folks charge, you could certainly provide something more comfortable than this flimsy fold-out. I mean, hell, an army cot would be more comfortable.”
“I’ll pass that along,” she said. “See you in the morning, Lacy.”
“What a bitch,” Gunther mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear as she closed the door.
For dinner, Gunther fed her ice cream and Jell-O while he ate nothing. They watched Friends reruns until she was exhausted. As she dozed off, he was back in his nest, hammering out e-mails with no sign of slowing down.
Throughout the night, the nurses eased in and out. At first Gunther bitched about the noise they made, but soon settled down when a cute one he fancied slipped him a Xanax. By midnight he was snoring, the flimsy fold-out sofa notwithstanding.
—
Around five Friday morning, Lacy began to fidget and moan. She was asleep and dreaming, and the dreams were not pleasant. Gunther patted her arm, whispered that everything was going to be fine, that she would be home in no time. She awoke with a jolt and breathed heavily.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Some water,” she said, and he lifted a straw to her mouth. She took a long sip and he wiped her mouth. “I saw it, Gunther, I saw the truck just before we hit. Hugo screamed and I looked ahead, and there were bright lights right in front of us. Then everything went black.”
“Attagirl. Do you remember a sound? Maybe the collision, maybe the explosion of the air bag in your face?”
“Maybe, I’m not sure.”
“Did you see the other driver?”
“No, nothing but lights, really bright. It happened so fast, Gunther. I had no time to react.”
“Of course you didn’t. It wasn’t your fault. The truck crossed the center line.”
“It did, yes it did.” She closed her eyes again, and a few seconds passed before he realized she was crying.
“It’s okay, Sis. It’s okay.”
“Hugo’s not really dead, is he, Gunther?”
“Yes, Lacy. You need to accept it and believe it and stop asking if it’s really true. Hugo is dead.”
She cried and there was nothing he could do. He ached for her as she shivered and struggled and grieved for her friend. Finally, mercifully, she went back to sleep.
16