me. 3-2-07
Rated: G
Notes:Brace yourself for a bit of Mark 'whumping'
Most of the time Mark McCormick wouldn't mind having to trim some hedges on a sunny, warm afternoon, but this really wasn't an ordinary sort of day and yet he still didn't really mind it, he was actually hoping it would be some sort of respite for him. He'd been playing the waiting game with the California Bar on getting the results from the final hurdle on becoming a lawyer. Did he pass? Did he have to take it again? Were the last several years of studying and training a waste of his precious time? Would he ever become a lawyer? Is that really what he wanted to do? Too many questions invaded his brain, he just wanted to put all the questions aside, if only for a day. Ultimately, he didn't mind doing the hedge trimming job on this day because he needed to give his worried mind a break.
And so it was that this waiting game was getting to him and right now at this time, the physical labor would be a nice change of pace. He'd sort of missed doing the seemingly daily chores while he attended law school and at first he'd tried to do both, but Hardcastle wouldn't stand for it for very long and before his second semester began, Milt had hired out the Estate duties to various local contractors.
Still, after the three plus years of painstakingly trimming, hedging, mowing and cleaning, McCormick had fallen into a routine and learned to like doing things a certain way, and he appreciated how things looked when he got done working. He began to take pride in any sort of work he did. That was another quality he learned from Hardcastle, and one he was glad he learned. Every once and awhile then, he'd cancel the service for a week or so and pick up the trimmers or the pool chemicals and set off to do the job his way. That was reward enough…until this waiting game came along.
And then there was Hardcastle. McCormick swore that the Judge was worse than five-year-old on Christmas morning during this period of uncertainty. His hounding and staking out the mailbox in anticipation of the news was more than driving Mark to an early coronary problem. The results were sure to come any day now.
In an effort to avoid the waiting and the staring and the worrying and the wondering, he told the Judge he was going to head outside and work on the hedges. Hardcase tried to put up a fuss about him going out work in the yard reminding him that the lawn service now took care of the grounds, and he could prove it with the monthly bills he paid, but McCormick didn't care, he just needed an outlet for his nerves. And soon enough after an early breakfast war of words between the two of them, Hardcastle realized Mark needed to do something besides wait and he needed to put his mind on something else and there was nothing wrong with a little sweat, so Milt reluctantly watched him go out to work in the yard.
He found a pair of old, dark gray sweats and a light yellow t-shirt to wear and headed outside to the garage for the power trimmers. He'd convinced Hardcastle about a year earlier to finally make the jump from hand trimmers to a powered variety, arguing that the trimming could be cut down to a minimum amount of time, hence saving him money in the long run.
He gathered up trimmers, a garbage can, and a rake and headed out to the particular set of hedge he'd thought needed his attention the most and that was the farthest away from the house and Hardcastle. It was a rather large area, and he intended to take his time with it, since he had time to kill and so that when he finished it would look good.
Mark hadn't done any yard work in some time, due to finishing up his law degree, and as much as he hated waiting for the results of the bar, it did feel good to get outside and do some physical labor for a change. He missed the seeing how well the estate looked when he'd worked with his heart and soul on it. For a kid from New Jersey, he thought he'd never feel that way about yard work, but then again, he never thought he'd be best friends with a law and order type like Milton C. Hardcastle either.
Now if he could only keep Hardcase out of his hair long enough to enjoy his work this day and take his own mind off the waiting, then he'd be happy.
He barely had gotten started when the Judge came trouncing out to interrupt him for the first of many times. Hardcastle had read something about 'fresh-out-of-law-school' lawyers in the morning paper and felt the need to come out and share it with him. Mark took a break long enough to listen to him and when he didn't comment too much on what the Judge had read, Milt got the hint and went back inside the house.
That was followed by interruptions about what he wanted to eat for dinner, an errand to town to take care of a few things, a story about Frank and the new case he was working on, a chat about the big Dodgers trade, and another run to the local hardware store to pick up some supplies. On his way back to Gulls Way, he'd stop at the mailbox. By the time all the interruptions were through, McCormick was ready to move to Alaska so that he could be free of interruptions and hedge trimming for the rest of his life. He was happy when Milt decided to go to the hardware store. A good friend of Hardcastle's owned the local store, so chances were good that Milt would run into Artie Stevens and be gone for a good, long while.
Mark was wrong. It wasn't more than a half hour later that Milt came driving up the roadway and parked the truck out front of the house. He watched him get out of the truck, with a bag from the hardware store and the days mail and expected him to head right over, but surprisingly Hardcastle went into the house instead.
So Mark kept working, he'd trim a little, take a few steps back, look at the hedge and check the even-est and curve of it and then go back to trimming and shaping the shrubbery. He glanced toward the house and thought maybe Hardcastle had taken the hint finally and decided that unless there was a certain envelope in the mail that he didn't want to keep getting disturbed.
Ten minutes later, with the power trimmer humming, Hardcastle stepped outside onto the small porch area and started yelling for him and waving his arms. Due to the noise of the trimmers, Mark didn't see him or hear him at first, but the ever persistent Judge Hardcastle, rather than walking over to him, just kept yelling and waving his arms from the small stoop. Out of the corner of his eye Mark finally caught a glimpse of the crazy, old coot and lifted up his left arm to indicate he got the message.
Milt heard the whir of the trimmers going on and off. McCormick could turn a simple hedge shaping into the Sistine Chapel. He was almost sorry he'd agreed to purchase the power variety trimmers last year, because the kid really thought he was becoming Michelangelo out there. Finally the whir stopped and he figured the kid was on his way in.
Hardcastle went back inside the den and paced in front of the desk for a moment and then decided to sit in the familiar chair and wait for the kid to come in. He had the envelope on the desk, and he spun it around, address facing out, so that when McCormick came in, it would be right there for him to open. To pass the time, he flipped it back around and looked at the envelope. There was no indication outwardly either way. He picked it up and held it up to the window, but he couldn't make out any writing on the inside. He set it back on the desk and spun it around again. This kid could drive him crazy. Why was trimming hedge so damn important to him right this minute?
He grabbed a book that was sitting on the corner of his desk and pretended to read it, though he merely kept reading the same sentence over and over.
He heard the screen door and called out to him, "its about damn time McCormick, you know you're not sculpting the Pieta out there, it's just a hedge for crying out loud."
It took what seemed to be an unusual long period of time for the kid to make it the short distance from the front door to the den. And in a moment McCormick was standing at the top of the landing to enter the den. Hardcastle looked up from the book and was about to say something of a smart aleck nature when he got good look at Mark, who was as pale as a ghost, holding up his left hand, encased by his right hand, pressed against his chest. Both hands shook incessantly and were covered with blood, as was the pale yellow t-shirt he wore.
"Oh my God, what the he?" Hardcastle began to say, rising up from his chair, but didn't even manage to get the short phrase completely out of his mouth as McCormick stood on the landing for just a moment longer, then let out an exhausted, pain-laden gasp and collapsed onto the floor in a heap.
Hardcastle was upright in a flash and ran over toward McCormick, who since hitting the floor hard, was now trying to sit up and bring himself out of the fainting mode he'd been in. Milt bent down on one knee beside Mark.
Milt put his hand on McCormick's shoulder and using his first name for a change said, "Mark, what happened?" His voice, up an octave from his normal deep timbre. McCormick was in a daze and attempted to stand back up. "Don't try to get up," Milt added with a fearful sound building in his own tone, seeing the ashen face of McCormick. He glanced down and saw that Mark's left hand was a bloody mess, still oozing profusely. Something must have happened with the power trimmers. He could only begin to imagine.
McCormick was having problems focusing on anything, let alone explaining what had happened. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he wavered as he sat and sort of slumped against the Judge for support.
"It's ok, I got ya, everything's gonna be all right." Hardcastle realized he was already going into shock. "Just stay put, don't get up, I'll be right back," the Judge said, taking his own hand and giving a fatherly squeeze on Mark's shoulder. He leaned him back against the wall of the den. He got up to his feet quickly and went to the bathroom closet and pulled out several bath towels and went back to McCormick's side. Mark was now shaking in fear from head to toe, desperately clutching his left hand inside his right hand and keeping it tucked close to his body.
"The trimmers," he managed to say, sucking in scared breath.
"Yeah, I figured that," Hardcastle said, "Give me your hand, let me take a look at it."
McCormick stared straight ahead, and kept a tight hold of his injured limb as if he didn't hear a word the Judge was saying.
"Mark, listen to me," the Judge quickly took his own hand and grabbed McCormick's chin and turned it toward him, "give me your hand, I want to put some pressure on it, I have to stop the bleeding, understand?"
"Trimmers," Mark said again, this time blinking his eyes as he looked at the Judge.
Hardcastle nodded and tried to reach for his left hand, "I know, it's ok, now come on, let me have a better look at it." The front of Mark's t-shirt was covered in fresh blood and it was dripping down both his arms. Cautiously, the Judge reached in and peeled away his right hand and then eased his way into taking the left hand of Mark into his own. "There, that's a boy, let's see what we got here. You're gonna be all right, just take some deep breaths okay? You might want to look away." He grabbed a nearby towel and placed it in Mark's palm trying to put some pressure on it to stop the massive blood flow.
He pulled back on the towel and as he did, he could see exposed bone under the pinky and ring fingers of Marks left hand. The gash was deep and continued on diagonally down the length of his entire palm, just ending around where his watch would be. He quickly pressed the towel back down and then reached back and wrapped another towel over the first one and tied it in place.
"It's bad, Judge," Mark said, his bottom lip trembling and his breath fast and shallow. He looked down at his wounded hand as the Judge worked to stop the bleeding. "Hurts like hell, what happened?"
"You just need some stitches, that's all," Milt was quick to say, not wanting the kid to worry anymore than he could tell he already was. "I'll get you to the hospital right away and they'll sew you right up. Here, let's put your hand against your chest again and put your right hand over it again, and keep pressing it as hard as you can stand it, can you do that?" Hardcastle began, as he grabbed some more of the nearby unused towels and shoved them inside his jacket, just in case he needed them on the way to the hospital. It was a wonder that McCormick had any blood left in him at all, since it appeared as if he'd shed so much already.
Mark let his hand fall to his side and the Judge quickly lifted it back up and again, tried to focus McCormick by directing his chin to force him to look and listen to him. "Mark, you have to do this," he said, putting his left hand on his chest and covering his left hand with his right hand. "Do you understand, you need to keep pressure on it, can you do it?"
"Yeah," Mark said shakily. This time it had sunk in and he kept it snug against his body.
"I'm gonna help you stand up ok? Do you think you can make it, if I help you?" Mark shuddered and nodded yes. "Ok, on three ok," Milt positioned himself to help him stand up, "one, two, three," he said, helping the lanky young man to his feet. Once they were both standing, Hardcastle asked him, "That wasn't so bad was it? We'll just take it slow and easy out to the truck, its right outside." Thank God he'd left it out when he got back from the hardware store. "You doing okay still?" He asked him as they started to walk together.
"Ambulance?" Mark questioned.
"Nope, that'll take too long, I can get us there quicker. Remember one step at a time now, just lean on me, you're doing just great."
"Gonna pass out," Mark said as he stopped unwilling to move forward.
" I got a hold of you, I won't let that happen, come on now, we need to get going," Hardcastle said as they took slow steps toward the front door. Mark unknowingly listened to the familiar voice and kept walking.
"Heard you yelling and when I turned, thing slipped out of my hand and whammo," Mark said as they got closer to the truck. "Pretty stupid huh?"
"Don't worry about that now." Milt could feel Mark shaking from the shock as he led him outside and down the steps. "We're almost there, you're doing fine."
"Too nice," Mark paused to swallow, "need to yell at me," Mark said.
"I'll do that later okay? Just a few more steps and you're there, the hard part's over." Milt looked at the ground and noticed the trail of the blood leading into the house and wondered how the kid had even managed to get himself from the area of the lawn where he'd been trimming hedge into the house. The kid had guts he didn't even know about. Even after all these years, the kid surprised him. Hardcastle leaned him up against the truck as he opened the door and then he helped him get inside the cab.
Milt ran around to the driver's side and got in. "Listen, try to keep that hand elevated just like you're doing, that'll help stop the bleeding. He started up the ignition and drove away from the house.
"Never saw this much blood before," Mark said, looking down the front of his shirt. "This is all mine huh?"
"Yeah kiddo, you really did a number on yourself this time."
"I don't think I can take my pulse right now, I probably don't have one in my hand," McCormick kidded.
"That's okay, mine's beating double time for both of us."
"Really stupid Judge, you should be mad at me."
"I'm not mad, I just want to get you to the hospital." Milt looked over and could still see Mark trembling. There was absolutely no color in his skin. He almost looked gray. "Hey, keep talking to me kiddo, okay," he knew he had to keep him conscious as long as possible.
Mark's head was fixated on his throbbing hand. "Towel is soaked through," he said, looking down at the now bloody towel.
Milt reached inside his jacket and put the unused towels on the seat between them. "Can you wrap another one around there or do you want me to pull over?"
"Can do it," he said, briefly letting go of his left hand and clumsily picking up the towel from the seat with his right hand. He wrapped it around his left hand and went back to pressing it against his chest.
"That'll help slow it down," Milt said, seeing that Mark had managed to wrap it up successfully.
"This is very bad," Mark said groggily, "could lose it….might be a one-handed lawyer. Don't think there's one-handed gardeners. And I know there's no one-handed race car drivers."
Hardcastle was amazed the kid still found some humor in the whole situation, so he played along. "There's plenty of one-handed smart aleck comedians though."
"I knew a one-handed con inside," Mark said, "'sname was Arthur. He had a hook for awhile, till he used it as a weapon on some other guy and they took it away from him," he slurred. He almost sounded like he was drunk.
"We're about five minutes from the hospital," Hardcastle commented, as he took his eyes off the road long enough to see Mark's head starting to bob. He was amazed the kid managed to stay conscious as long as he already had, given the amount of blood loss. "You still with me kiddo?"
McCormick's head jerked up, "Still here Kemosabe, but I think I'm fading, hand is throbbing, can't be good."
"Just hang on, we'll be there real soon."
"You're speeding Hardcase?" Mark could tell the Judge was going over the speed limit. He'd driven this stretch of road with him enough times to realize it.
"Flagrant necessity," Milt answered.
McCormick let out a tiny laugh, "ah, saving a man from impending death huh?"
"Who said anything about dying?"
"Saving a man from loosing his hand then?"
"Oh, you're not loosing your hand either," Hardcase chastised him.
"'sis is why I love ya Hardcase, you always tell me what I need to hear."
Hardcastle looked over at him and saw the third towel was soaked through already. "Can you grab another towel there McCormick?"
Mark leaned over and tried to grab another towel, but as he did he just passed out by slumping against Hardcastle. Milt pushed down on the accelerator and got to the hospital faster than he ever thought he could.
He drove right up to the ER entrance and hastily parked the truck in the ambulance loading bay and then he ran into the hospital looking for help from the first person he saw. "I need some help, my friend, he cut his hand wide open, he's lost a lot of blood and he passed out about 2 minutes ago," he said to someone he thought was a nurse.
She indeed was a nurse and came around the desk quickly and called out for a couple of orderlies to come and lend a hand. The three of them raced outside to the truck and quickly got Mark onto a gurney and into a trauma room.
Milt tried to follow them in, but the nurse asked that he wait outside until the ER doctor could access his injury. He reluctantly agreed and stayed outside the room pacing a few steps at a time and peaking inside the tiny window of the trauma room every now and again.
About thirty five minutes later the same nurse stepped outside and told Milt he could go in for a few minutes to see Mark.
Hardcastle took off his cap and scratched his head and before he stepped inside, he asked the nurse about McCormick's condition.
"We've stabilized him for right now. They'll be taking him up to surgery shortly. We've got the bleeding under control and we started giving him blood right now, and he's started to come around, and he's asking for you. He seems pretty emotional. We're hoping you can help calm him down."
Milt let out a deep breath. "Can they fix his hand?" He paused and added, "I mean, he's gonna ask me that, and I need to tell him the truth."
"Dr. Lewis believes he can. The nerve damage is repairable and the tendon and ligament damage while severe, can also be surgically repaired. He's got a real good chance of regaining full mobility, but he'll need a great deal of therapy."
Hardcastle broke out into a genuine smile. "Well, that's about the best news I've heard in the last couple of hours."
"Why don't you go inside, Dr. Lewis tried to tell him, but I think you're right, Mark needs to hear the news from you in order to believe it."
Milt walked past her and pushed the swinging doors open and saw a still very pale McCormick lying on the trauma room gurney. His hand was heavily bandaged and was elevated, lying on some surgically wrapped pillows. They had removed all his bloody clothes, he now had on a hospital smock and was covered by a couple of blankets.
"You're looking better there kiddo," Milt said walking up to the bed.
"And you're a horrible liar Judge," McCormick said almost stuttering, his breathing still shallow and rapid. "Cold in here," he added.
"Want me to get you another blanket?" McCormick nodded no and shut his eyes for a moment, almost afraid to hear what the Judge was going to tell him. Hardcastle cleared his throat, "The nurse said they stabilized you enough for now and you're going up to surgery pretty soon."
"Surgery huh?" Mark glanced down to his heavily bandaged left hand, then back to Hardcastle, "they told me they could save it, what did they tell you?"
Milt nodded his agreement. "The same thing, they can repair all of it, you'll have full mobility. You're gonna be all right, there's nothing to worry about. Remember, I told you, you just needed some stitches."
"I can't feel it right now," he tried to suck in a deep shuddering breath.
"Well, they're prepping you for surgery, you know, they want you to be ready for the operation, they probably have your arm under some sort of anesthesia or something and they don't want you trying to flex it or move it around or anything either."
"Maybe." He took another deep breath, "What a stupid thing I did. I never want to trim another bush ever."
"It was just an accident, things happen," Milt said in an understanding tone.
Mark blinked his eyes a few time as some liquid tears started to form. "This isn't the way I wanted to start a law career, minus a hand," he paused and sniffled, "but at least I'm right handed huh?"
"You're getting a little ahead of yourself sport." Hardcastle decided to lighten the mood. "I'd tell you to get a grip too, but that could be a few months down the road, you know?" McCormick tried to smile, but Milt could tell he wasn't up to joking back with him. "You're gonna be fine."
There was an awkward moment of silence between them. Mark gazed down at the bandaged hand. "I'm scared Judge," his eyes welled up again. "I don't want to lose my hand."
Milt reached down and grabbed hold of his right hand and gave it a squeeze. "I know you're scared, but you don't have to be, and you're not going to lose it, I promise you, I won't let them. Dr. Lewis is going to take good care of you. They told both of us the same thing right? They can fix you up, good as new. You just need to listen to them and do what they tell you to do."
The nurse walked into the trauma room and came over toward them. "Mark, they're ready for you up in surgery. You doing okay there?"
"He said he was cold," Milt answered for him and Mark agreed by giving a little nod.
"Well, I sure can fix that, let me get you another blanket, I'll be right back." Milt was happy that he told her, because it gave the two of them one more moment alone, since Hardcastle never liked the mushy stuff anyway, especially in front of other people.
"Thanks Judge," Mark said quietly, "for everything."
Milt shrugged off the gratitude. "Remember, you do everything they tell you to do and I'll be out here waiting for you after the surgery. You're gonna be all right Mark."
The nurse came back and spread out the blanket over him. "Ok, James and John will be in to take you up. Judge, I can take you up to the waiting room, if you want to follow me."
Hardcastle gave Mark's right hand one more squeeze. "It'll be fine, don't worry."
Mark nodded, looked over at his left hand and closed his eyes.
The following morning, the bright sun began to stream into Mark's hospital room. Hardcastle sat dozing in one of the hospital chairs off to the side, but the streaming sunlight hit him just right and he woke up recalling where he was and all that had happened.
McCormick still slept, which wasn't anything new. Milt looked at his watch and saw that it was only about 7am. Too early yet for the kid, he thought. Besides after yesterday's trauma, the kid would probably sleep for weeks. He watched the steady rise and fall of his friend's chest and also happily noticed that the color had returned to his skin. Blood and an IV hung on the pole and dripped into Mark's right arm. His left hand was elevated on three plush pillows, still heavily wrapped in white and the tips of his fingers were poking through.
Hardcastle wondered if the kid realized he was sitting there staring at him, because after a few minutes, Mark's eyes fluttered open and he turned his head to see the Judge sitting next to his bed.
"I was hoping this was a horror movie," McCormick said, closing his eyes for an extra long moment, as if to force himself to wake up and then opening them back up again to see the familiar face of the Judge.
Milt had to smile, "Well, according to Frank, the house sure looks like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, there's blood everywhere."
"I'm sorry Judge," McCormick felt the need to apologize for the apparent mess he'd caused.
"It was just an accident, I can clean it up, no big deal," he paused. "The main thing is that you're all right. How you feeling this morning?"
Mark glanced at his left hand, "I'm still in one piece, so pretty good I guess."
"The doc was here about 5am for rounds, he's very happy with the surgery."
"Yeah?"
Hardcastle nodded. "Yep, he did a little test, and said you can try it yourself, go ahead and wiggle your fingers."
Mark froze for a moment, fearful to even try.
"Come on, it's ok really, he said you can do it. Give it a try."
Mark fixated his eyes on his left hand and he told himself to wiggle his fingers. Ever so slightly each one of them trembled as he told his mind to move them. A grin broke out on his face, as he continued to wiggle them. "God it really hurts, but it's the best pain I could ask for." He let out a moan of pain at the end of his sentence.
"Don't overdue it there kiddo. He also said you'll be having some intensive therapy for the next month or so."
"Great, do you have anymore good news for me?"
"As a matter of fact," Milt began, pulling out a legal size envelope from his jacket. "This came in the mail yesterday. I had Frank bring it over. You never got a chance to open it."
Mark shook his head, "I'm not so sure I'm ready for that right now."
"See, you're assuming the worst again. You were wrong about your hand remember? Here," he said, putting it in his right hand, "open it up and see what it says."
"You could help me out here, you know?" Mark said, trying to get a hold of it.
"Nah, this is your news, you deserve to do the honors."
Mark clumsily fumbled with the envelope using his one hand and finally got it open and pulled out the letter. He read it to himself and his face didn't give Hardcastle a clue one way or another.
"Well, what's it say?"
"It's the standard letter," Mark shrugged. Milt was just about to tell him that he'd have another crack at the bar in a few months, when Mark added, "Dear Mr. McCormick, Congratulations, you have passed the California Bar Exam."
Milt couldn't contain a smile. "I knew you could do it, congratulations kiddo, and you know what this means don't you? No more hedge trimming for you."
"You got that right," Mark grinned, and wiggled his fingers once more.