Time Off for Good Behavior (3 page)

“
Maybe I should come back later,
”
the guy said.

I waved my hand dismissively.
“
If you
’
re gonna come back, you might as well stay.
”

He nodded and stepped toward me, a crooked smile snaking up one side of his face as he held out his ha
nd.
“
Hi, Wanda. My name is Walter Briggs.
”

I smiled back as I took his hand. He had brown hair and wire-frame glasses, and his handshake was firm, but not like he was trying to prove anything. He was that Jimmy Stewart kind of handsome, the kind you didn
’
t
notice much until he unleashed that crooked smile on you and then
hoo-wah.

“
I
’
m a lawyer,
”
he said.

Hoo
-whatever. I withdrew my hand and crossed my arms, narrowing my eyes at him.

“
I knew it.
”

“
I
’
m sorry?
”

“
Bible college, my ass,
”
I muttered.

“
Excuse me?
”

I crossed my arms and went on attack.
“
Couldn
’
t even wait until the painkillers wore off, could you?
”

His eyebrows knit slightly, and his head tilted a bit. Nice whack at innocence, but I wasn
’
t buying it. He looked at me in silence, and I widened my eyes
, speaking slowly so he
’
d understand.

“
I
’
m not signing anything.
”

“
Okaaaaaay,
”
he said.

“
So you can just run along back to Pencil Face and tell him I
’
m not falling for that trick.
”

The crooked smile snaked up a notch in a manner that was not at all attract
ive.
Not one bit.

“
Pencil Face?
”

“
Your boss, the defense lawyer for those HG&E guys.
”

His eyebrows raised in understanding.
“
Oh. You mean John Douglass.
”

I rolled my eyes and flicked my hand at him.
“
Run along. I
’
m not signing anything. You
’
re wasting your
time.
”

He gave a low chuckle that was also not at all appealing.
“
Why don
’
t you let me worry about my time?
”

“
I was trying to be polite,
”
I said through clenched teeth.
“
I care about
my
time.
”

He nodded, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a business
card.
“
Then I won
’
t take up much more of it. Like I said, my name is Walter Briggs. Although I am familiar with John Douglass
—
sorry, Pencil Face
—
I
’
m not associated with him.
”

I looked down at the card. It was plain with black type:
“
Walter Briggs, Attorne
y-at-Law.
”
I looked back up at Walter, who was smiling down at me.

Okay. Maybe the smile was a
little
attractive.

“
So if you
’
re not associated with Pencil Face, what are you doing here?
”

His eyes tightened a bit, but his mouth didn
’
t skip a beat.
“
I heard
about what happened at the courthouse. Based on my research, you have a decent case against the city. I thought I
’
d come by and offer to help you, if you decide to pursue legal action.
”

I ran my eyes over the card again and then up to his face.
“
You don
’
t
look like an ambulance chaser.
”

His amused expression waned a bit.
“
I
’
m not.
”

“
Then why are you here soliciting for business?
”

“
Are you this hard on everyone you meet?
”

“
Not everyone,
”
I said, feeling a smile play on my lips despite my better judgment. You
’
d have to be blind and deaf to not smile at Jimmy Stewart.
“
Just the lawyers.
”

Vera entered, carrying my dinner tray. Judging by the smell, I
’
d finally made it to the A-list of hospital inmates allowed to eat something other than Jell-O and beef bouillon.
Walter stepped back to give her room.

“
I
’
ll let you enjoy your dinner,
”
he said, his hand reaching for the door. He started to go, then turned his head and shot another grin at me.
“
I
’
m glad you
’
re feeling better, Wanda.
”
He looked over at Vera and flashe
d her a bigger grin. I was not at all jealous.
“
Have a nice day.
”

And then he was gone.

Vera raised her eyebrows at me.
“
Cute.
”

“
I guess,
”
I said.
“
So, I
’
m getting real food now?
”

“
You guess?
”
she said.
“
Honey, you gotta appreciate a boyfriend looks like t
hat. I wouldn
’
t kick him outta my bed for eating crackers, I
’
ll tell you that much.
”

“
Boyfriend?
”
I said.
“
I just met him.
”

She gave me a quizzical look.
“
But he was here every day when you were in the coma. I was wondering where he went. .
“
Here where? In
the hospital?
”

She shook her head.
“
Here
here
, in your room.
”

“
Every day?
”
I said, trying to picture Jimmy Stewart as a psycho stalker. Couldn
’
t do it.
“
All day?
”

“
No,
”
she said,
“
not all day, but he
’
s been coming by, stopping in your room, checking on yo
u. Sometimes he
’
d sit for a spell. We all just assumed he was your boyfriend. I was surprised when you said not to call anyone for you; if that man was in my room every day, I
’
d have him on speed dial.
”

“
Well, sorry to be the sugar in your gas tank, but...
”
I handed her his card. She read it, rolled her eyes, and handed it back.

“
Lawyers,
”
she said, shaking her head in severe disappointment.

“
Preaching to the choir, sister,
”
I said.

She crossed her arms, stared for a moment at the doorway where he
’
d just be
en, and shrugged.
“
Still wouldn
’
t kick him out of bed.
”
She turned and gave me a bright smile.
“
Well, you eat your dinner, honey, and happy birthday!
”

I put my fork down.
“
Happy birthday?
”

She nodded and seemed at a loss for words for a moment. That impres
sion was fleeting.
“
October twenty-sixth, right? According to your chart?
”

“
Yeah,
”
I said.
Crap.
“
I
’
m thirty-two today.
”

She smiled, about to say something chipper, then apparently thought better of it.
“
Honey, where
’
s your family?
”

I picked up my fork.
“
N
ew York.
”

She paused a beat, wisely choosing not to pick at that thread.
“
Are you sure there
’
s no one we should call? I know you informed us not to contact your husband again
—
”

“
Ex-husband.
”
I poked at the chicken on my plate. It resisted.
“
This thing is d
ead, right?
”

“
Wanda?
”

“
Are these instant potatoes?
”
I let a clump fall from my fork with a dull splat.
“
Five thousand dollars a minute for a hospital bed, and you guys can
’
t afford real potatoes?
”

“
I
’
m about to go on break,
”
she said.
“
I was wondering if y
ou
’
d... maybe... would you mind if I ate with you?
”

“
Don
’
t pity me, Vera,
”
I said, not looking at her.
“
I
’
m used to being alone. I like it that way.
”

She crossed her arms and jutted one hip out with attitude.
“
Well,
I
don
’
t like eating alone, and I thought
that sitting in here with you might be nice, but you
’
re quickly changing my mind.
”

I smiled. Vera had teeth. Good for her.
“
Could you bring me some real potatoes?
”
I asked.

She smiled and patted my knee.
“
I
’
ll see what I can do for you.
”

She squeaked on o
ut. My birthday. Goddamn.

I sighed and poked at my chicken, then stopped. The tune. That same damn tune. Again. I listened carefully. It was faint. Sort of classical. I could hear a piano approaching some sort of crescendo. I
’
d heard it before, I knew I ha
d, but I just couldn
’
t place it...

“
Hope this potato is real enough for you,
”
Vera said as she squeaked back into the room. Damn nurse shoes.

“
Shhhh!
”
I said, holding up my hand. She froze. I lowered my hand. It was gone.

She moved forward and placed the f
oil-covered potato on my tray.
“
You okay, Wanda?
”

“
Yeah,
”
I said, watching her as she grabbed a tray from the empty bed on the other side of the room.
“
It
’
s just that song. It
’
s driving me crazy.
”

She settled on the bed next to me and situated her food.
“
W
hat song?
”

I raised my knife, motioning out the door.
“
I don
’
t know. Whatever music the nurses keep playing at the station.
”