Chapter 2

Mickey parked in the handicapped space in front of Northside Hospital. His pickup was specially equipped with hand-operated brakes and gas pedal.

Being wheelchair bound for several years had changed his outlook on life. He would never forget those grueling exercises they made him perform at the Mayo Clinic, day after day, hour after hour. There was one small consolation – the nurse whose job it was to massage his muscles after every workout. had been rather pretty.

Mickey remembered his sense of accomplishment the day when he was finally able to move one toe. After that, he swore he was going to live up to his full potential, no matter how challenging it might be.

He got out of his truck, and was reaching for his crutches in the back of his pickup, when he slipped and fell. Momentarily, an attractive young lady with long dark hair came walking by.

"Pardon me, ma'am," he said, "but I was trying to get my crutches outta the back of this pickup and had a little accident. Think you could give me a hand?"

The young lady looked hesitant, but then she saw the handicapped decal on Mickey's truck.

"Uh...sure," she said, Slowly, she helped Mickey up.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said.

Mickey sensed the lady's discomfort. "It's all right," he said. "You don't have to be afraid."

Just then he had a memory flash -

Mickey sat reclined in the front seat of a car, groggy and hung over. He had a black eye. Lucy sat beside him wearing a tuxedo. She gently touched his bruise.

"It's all right," he murmered. "You don't have to be afraid."

His mind faded back to the present.

"No," he heard the young lady say. "It's just you can never be too cautious."

"I understand," he said. "I'm Mickey, by the way. Mickey Trotter."

"Kate," she answered, glancing at her watch. "Kate Whitaker."

Forty-five minutes later, Mickey and Kate were seated in the hospital cafe.

"So, how's your uncle doin'?" asked Mickey

"Not, good," she replied. "He needs a liver transplant.

"I'm sorry," said Mickey. "Well, I hope everything works out okay."

"Thanks," said Kate. "So, how were you injured...if you don't mind my asking?"

"Car accident," said Mickey. "Drunk driver. Been seven years, now. Things've been pretty rough for me ever since."

"I'll bet, " replied Kate. "Well, I'm really sorry that happened to you."

Mickey nodded. "Thanks. Definitely not the wildcat I was."

Kate laughed slightly. "You don't sound like you're from around here," she said.

"No. Kansas, originally. You?"

"Philadelphia—up until just a couple months ago, actually. I moved out here with my mom when my uncle got sick.

"Well…now there's a coincidence.," Mickey began. "I came out here with my ma, too."

Just then they heard a voice from the hospital corridor. "Kate!"

Kate looked up and waved. A lovely young blond, maybe mid-twenties, was standing there.

"Paige, hi", Kate answered. She hesitated, remembering that Mickey was still there. "Uh, Paige, this is...Mickey. Mickey, this is Paige"

"Nice to meet you, " said Mickey.

'Hello," Paige answered somewhat guardedly.

It looked as though Paige and Kate had something personal 5o discusss. Sensing his cue, Mickey got up. "Well," if you two lovely young ladies will excuse me." He reached for his crutches. "It was nice talking to you, Kate."

"Yeah," Kate answered a bit shyly, "it was nice talking to you too."

Mickey headed out toward the main entrance.

"Friend?" Paige asked Kate, after Mickey had left.

"Not really," Kate answered. "I just met him out in the parking lot.

Early-evening sunshine shined through windows of the bar and grill. Mickey was seated at the bar, flirting with a young lady dressed in tight jeans.

"Kansas?" the girl asked with curiousity.

"Yeah, this small town called Emporia. You've probably never heard of it."

"No," the girl laughed.

"Well it is a sort of hick town..." Mickey began, but just then he was distracted by a song coming from the jukebox:

And I swear I see a little bit of every girl I've ever known

in the loneliness of Lucy's eyes.

For a moment, Mickey was quiet, off in his own world...

Later that evening, Mickey sat in his bedroom holding a piece of paper. Written on it was a phone number which Frank Williams had given him. Above the number was written, 'Gary Ewing'. Lying next to the phone on table was his wallet, open to a photo of a young who looked to be about twenty. She had long blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. Slowly, Mickey dialed the number. After about the third ring a man answered, Mickey could hear children's voices in the background.

"Hi, could I speak to Gary Ewing?" Mickey began.

"This is Gary," said the man, not trying very hard to hide his impatience. "Bobby," he shouted to someone in the background , "not in the house. Take the ball outside."

"Are you there, Mr. Ewing?" asked Mickey.

"Yeah, I'm here," answered Gary. "Sorry"

"No problem," said Mickey. "Anyway, the reason I'm calling is…Mr. Ewing…you don't know me…" Mickey began stammering, "but I know who you are. I'd really like to talk to you if you can spare a little time."

"Okay, talk," answered Gary. He didn't always come across as friendly.

"In person," said Mickey.

Gary looked a bit puzzled. "I didn't , um...catch your name," he said .

"Oh yeah...It's Mickey. Mickey Trotter."