“Is your head or leg worse?”
My brain was fuzzy enough it took me a minute to think that through, and then I said, “Same? But different?” I closed my eyes because the lights weren’t helping.
I felt a touch on my shoulder that was probably Ranjan’s hand. “I promise, it will get better soon. You were extremely lucky. The wound to your leg was from a small-caliber bullet, and it went straight through. An inch to the side, and it would’ve broken your femur. As it is, you have a couple of wounds we’re letting heal by second intention with just bandaging, but they will heal. Some muscle damage that you’ll want physical therapy for, but I anticipate a nearly full recovery.”
“Nearly?”
“Some scarring is inevitable.”
“And my head?” I asked into the darkness.
“A bad concussion. We’ll do an MRI tomorrow before we discharge you, but both CTs were essentially normal. Nothing surgical. Just time and rest. Have you had a concussion before?”
“Yeah, at sixteen. Playing football to please my father.” Crap. Painkiller or trauma was fuzzing my brain, because I didn’t tell people that little detail. Didn’t reveal the pathos of being a beefy six-foot-tall teenager so eager to please his daddy he spent an entire summer working like hell to get fit, only to ride the bench in the fall. I made the team, but wasn’t on the field enough for our games to be worth my father’s time.
“Well, a second concussion’s a bit riskier than a first, but I’m pleased with your status so far. I’m going to do a full assessment now.” The doc proceeded to ask me questions and make me remember a series of words, and move my fingers and curl my toes. I messed up some of the memory stuff, the pulsing pain in my head making it hard to concentrate, but when she was done, Dr. Ranjan said, “You seem stable, which is good. We can get that oxygen off you now.” She eased the cannula free herself, and I sighed at the loss of one irritant.
“Thanks.”
“Try to get some sleep, and I’ll look in again tomorrow before you’re discharged.”
I’d been trying to tough it out, but then, part of the reason I quit football after the first concussion was because I didn’t buy into stupid macho nonsense. So I asked, “Can I get a little more painkiller?”
“Let me look at your chart.” A pause. “You can have another dose of Tylenol. I’ll have the nurse bring it by.”
“Tylenol.”
She must have heard the flatness of my tone, because her voice went gentle. “Sorry, Arthur. We limit the amount of opioids we give head-trauma patients. I’ll put in an order for some ice packs too.”
I managed to say, “Thanks,” from behind closed eyes.
The door scuffed open, clicked shut. I let my eyes water unwiped, and lay flat and deflated on the pillow, focusing on my breathing.
When James murmured, “Hey, Arthur,” I jumped and yelped. “Sorry!” he added.
“Not your fault.” In case he got the wrong impression, I rubbed my damp face and told him, “Everything’s fine. Puncture wound and a concussion. She said I’ll make a full recovery. I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”
“You’re allowed.”
“Doesn’t help anything, though.” A thought floated to the top. “The shelter. Vicky had to leave early. Did anyone take care of the evening chores?”
“Colin volunteered.”
“But your kids.” I couldn’t remember how long they’d been fostering, but I knew they were dealing with some emotional issues with their new brood.
“They can handle Danny babysitting for an hour. He brought his kids along as a buffer, and it went fine.”
“Oh. Oh, good. Thank him for me. I might not be out in time for morning chores, though.”
James chuckled, the bastard. “No shit.”
“Watch it, Mama might hear you swearing.” James’s mother was the reason he rarely used that kind of language. So he must’ve been really worried about me. “What day is it? Is Neil working?” I put the heels of my hands on my temples and squeezed. Didn’t help the throbbing.
James’s warm fingers ringed my wrists. “Hey, your brain is already bruised. Let’s not make it worse.” When he’d guided my hands down to my sides he said, “Colin will let the volunteers know you’re out. It’s Sunday, by now.”
“So, no Neil.”
“That guy Brooklyn was already there when Colin arrived,” James told me. “Colin said he was real helpful.”
