Brown Bag.
Harry properly woke up around ten the next morning, achy and tired and slightly cold. He was in hospital, he realized, flat on his back. Something was beeping nearby – a machine of some kind. He managed to turn his head and discovered Karen sitting in a chair next to his bed, holding his hand. This lifted his spirits quite pleasantly for maybe two minutes until Karen opened her eyes and noticed he was awake. He smiled. She didn't return it. She dropped his hand like a hot stone and went away, returning a minute later with the doctor right behind her.
The doctor examined Harry, prodding his leg repeatedly and asking questions, mostly of the "Does this hurt?" variety. It did most of the time, and the wound itself looked gross and not promising. It was black and blue and terribly swollen, mostly due to the "poking around" of the doctors, and the jagged cut had been sewn shut with two layers of stitches – one of them beneath the skin. The doctor said those would dissolve on their own, but the top layer would need to be removed. He ordered Harry to come back in two weeks to have them out, and to massage the area every day to prevent scar tissue from forming in the meantime. The doctor pressed a few buttons and elevated the head of his bed so he could sit up a bit and left.
A police officer came in right on the doctor's heels and took Harry's statement. Harry figured the man had a hearing problem, since he was forced to repeat himself at least three times while Karen stood in the background, arms crossed, silent. The fog was clearing, now. Karen looked ready to spit tacks and he couldn't blame her. He rather wished he hadn't been forced to explain everything in front of his wife. His actions sounded incredibly stupid and reckless in hindsight.
As soon as the officer left he looked at Karen warily, wondering what she was going to do. She very calmly pulled the curtain shut to give the illusion of privacy. Then she stalked over to his bed, planted her hands on either side of his shoulders, leaned right over him so there was no escaping her angry gaze, and let him have it. That last experience was by far the most painful of the morning. His wife started off reasonably coherent, but Harry was quickly left adrift in a hurricane of sentence fragments, wincing every once in a while and clinging desperately to a mental tree ("I love this woman, I really do") while she stormed at him.
"If you'd just thought … Used your brain for one second … What were you thinking? … Never in my life … Could have been killed … Daisy was asking questions … Playing bloody Batman on a commuter train – do you have any idea the hell you put me through? … The hospital called, told me you'd been stabbed and didn't even tell me where … Had to drop the kids at Mum's … Prayed they wouldn't just point me at the Morgue when I got here … You thoughtless fucking IDIOT!"
It was an emotional tsunami. Karen only stopped screaming at him at the end because she was crying too hard. Harry, seeing an opening, pulled her against him so her head was resting on his chest and held her tight while she sobbed.
"Here all night…" she said, muffled against his hospital gown. "Don't know what to tell the children…"
"Shh." He rubbed her back and blinked at the wall, his face a tense mask. He didn't blame her for this, not one bit. If their positions had been reversed, he knew he'd be doing the exact same thing, albeit in a deeper voice with a more liberal sprinkling of curse words and much less eye leakage.
Karen sniffled wetly. "… I was so scared."
"I know," Harry whispered, and he really did. He kept rubbing her, hoping it would help her calm down. She was already much improved from before.
"You can't do this again. You won't get lucky twice and if you die, I don't think I can survive it. Please, Harry."
Harry moved one hand to her feathery hair. "On my honor, I won't. May I say one thing?"
Karen had run out of gas for the moment. She snorted with laughter and sniffed. "Yes, you may."
Harry caught the smile in her voice and relaxed his grip on her a little bit. "I'm no hero. I didn't sit down on that train with the idea that I was going to be a vigilante and right some wrong. I swear to God, I was just trying to get home."
"I know you were," Karen said, pulling away slightly and wiping her eyes. "I know you didn't go looking for trouble, but I so wish you hadn't found it. And as for you not being a hero … well, that's debatable."
She gave him a tiny smile, a real one, and Harry knew he was safe for the moment. He smiled back and released her.
"Now," Karen said, reaching for her purse on the chair and pulling out her mobile, "You need to call the office and tell them you won't be in, and I'll get started harassing the doctors so we can get you out of this icebox and back home where you belong."
She had slipped into Mummy Mode – that was what Harry called it in his head when she started gently organizing the life of everyone around her – and it relieved him so much that all he could do was nod dumbly and accept the phone.
Karen ran around gathering his bag of clothes (she was dismayed to see that the doctors had destroyed a perfectly good pair of his trousers to treat him) and used the desk phone to ring her mum to give her the news and beg her to take the kids for a few more hours while she got Harry settled at home. Harry meanwhile rang the office. He got Sarah on the phone and explained what had happened.
"Oh my God. That was you?" she said.
That didn't bode well. Harry gathered his wits a little. "Sorry?"
"Harry, it's all over the news! They didn't get your name – the police didn't give it to the journalists – so you're just 'an unidentified London businessman.' They interviewed the other two guys from the incident and they were both saying you took the guy down first, they couldn't have done it without you, blah blah blah. It was nuts!"
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sarah, I need you to do me a huge favor. When you get off the phone with me and tell people I'm not coming in, make something up about my leg."
Sarah laughed. "Like what?"
"Anythingyou like – just not the truth. I certainly don't want recognition and Karen … I don't even want to think about what she would do if this went public."
"Say no more, boss. Your secret's safe with me. I'll tell everybody you slipped on some ice and skidded into one of those sharp iron fences. My cousin did that once a long time ago – he messed himself up pretty badly. Are you allowed up, by the way? I mean, we only have a couple of work days left before Christmas, but can you show up for any of them?"
Harry sighed. "I don't think so. I'm supposed to be in bed for two days, and the doctors said to take it easy for a week afterwards."
"Darn. Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we really need you on some things, and they have to be done by Christmas. What if I swing by the house with your laptop today, say one o'clock, and you can be 'on call,' so to speak?"
"That would be fine." It dawned on him then that he would not be back to work until at least after Christmas. "Oh, and Sarah, I must ask another favor. While you're in my office, I need you to pick up something else."
They pulled up at the house at a quarter to one, and Harry noticed Sarah get out of a car parked on the street. He pointed this out to Karen, who was at the wheel. Karen turned and waved cheerfully, then turned back to Harry.
"What is she doing here?"
"She's bringing my laptop. I'll be working from home until Christmas."
Karen sighed. "The doctors said you weren't to exert yourself."
"Yes, but I'll go mad with nothing to do. You know me."
A wry smile. "Yes, I certainly do. All right you, on your way. Here are your crutches."
"Where's the linen?" Harry asked, accepting the crutches and opening the door.
"Back seat, I'll get it."
Harry unfolded himself from the car. He was a bit unsteady on the crutches, bundled in his hat and coat over a shirt and sweater and a pair of hospital pyjama bottoms that Karen had located. Sarah came bustling over, carrying a huge brown paper bag, and helped Karen by holding the bag of linen while she opened the front door. Harry was limping along ridiculously slowly. The women finally looked at each other in dismay and went over to help, supporting him into the house and helping him hobble over to the couch. He sat down heavily. Sarah shut the door.
"I was more tired than I thought," Harry mumbled.
"Which is why you need to rest," Karen said rather pointedly. "I'll get upstairs and fix the bed. You wait here."
She thumped up the stairs. Harry was left alone with his American assistant. "Sarah, one more favor."
Sarah smiled. "Sure."
"You have it?"
She nodded and held up the brown bag, which crinkled a little. "Right here."
"Brilliant. Walk down the hallway to the right of the stairs. Just past the staircase on the left is Bernie's bedroom. Airplanes everywhere, you can't miss it. Put that in his closet, top shelf, all the way to the right. Hurry."
Sarah, grinning now, took off like a rabbit and got back with the bag just in time. Karen was coming down the stairs. Sarah laid the laptop on the coffee table.
"Well, I think I'll be off." She bent down to where Harry was sitting.
"This is from everybody at the office," she said, and gave him a big hug, then a peck on the cheek. "Everything's on the computer – just get started and give me call if you have any questions. Although, when I call you back, it might charge long distance."
"Oh, why?"
"Well …" Sarah was blushing. "Karl and I will be telecommuting a little bit. He surprised me today – we're leaving tomorrow for Italy. We'll be in Rome for Christmas."
"Isn't that where his family lives?" Harry asked.
Sarah nodded. Karen smiled like a doting aunt and gave her a hug. "Oh how lovely! Well, have a terrific time, dear."
"I will. Okay, stay out of trouble. Especially you," she quipped at Harry. "Merry Christmas!"
They both wished her the same and she left. Karen locked the door behind her, rolled up her sleeves, and turned to her husband with some amusement.
"All right, that's enough of your shenanigans, into bed with you."
Harry laughed at little. Karen helped him off the sofa and up the grueling flight of stairs. By the time she eased him into bed, wrapping his legs in a blanket that came up to his waist, he was exhausted. She stuffed a pillow under his knees, piled several more behind him so he could sit up, threw the covers over him and handed him his laptop.
"Okay, I'm going to call Mum and pick up the kids. I'll be back in forty minutes. Don't move."
Harry nodded and opened up the computer. He was very proud of his clever idea to have Sarah hide Karen's present in Bernie's top closet shelf. The boy had already looked for stuff in there and not found anything, because his mother had hidden his presents in the master bedroom. He wouldn't go looking there again.
Harry sat there and pecked away at the keys until he heard the door open downstairs and little voices chirping. Daisy was carrying on particularly loudly, demanding to see him. He shut the computer and prepared for the small but mighty horde to descend.
Daisy and Bernie pounded up the stairs and into the bedroom.
"Dad!" Daisy shrieked. She kicked off her little pink boots and clambered up on the bed to get to her father. Her brother, far too dignified for this, made a show of running around to the other side.
Harry gathered both of his children in for a hug. He didn't let them go immediately, and only stopped holding on when Daisy started giggling and Bernie attempted to wriggle free.
"Dad, what happened?" Bernie asked once he'd been released. "All Mum told us was that you did something stupid."
"Yes Dad, let's have it." Daisy said seriously. "What did you do?"
Harry glanced at the bedroom doorway. Karen was leaning in it, arms crossed, looking far too amused for his taste.
"I didn't look before I leapt, and I ran headlong into something very nasty," Harry answered them, which was basically the truth.
"What?" Bernie asked.
"A big knife."
"You ran into a knife with your leg?" Daisy said, looking at his bent knee. She was baffled. "Did you not see it?"
"No," Harry said honestly.
"Can you get up?" Bernie asked.
"Not right now. But after tomorrow, yes, I can."
"Yay! You'll be up for Christmas!" Daisy exulted. "I wonder if Santa will get my list."
"You haven't even sent it yet! How's he supposed to get it if you don't post it?" Bernie said sarcastically. At least he wasn't so cruel as to tell her that Santa wasn't real. Harry thanked heaven for small favors.
"Why don't you two go downstairs? You can finish your letters in the kitchen," Karen suggested and left.
Daisy, satisfied that her father was all right, took the hint. She crawled away across the bed and hopped down to the floor to find her boots. Bernie watched as she scurried off after her mother, but he stayed behind.
"Dad, are you sure you're all right? Mum dropped us off at Grandma and Grandpa's yesterday and she looked terrible. She's much better today, though."
Harry sighed. He could be a little more open and accurate with his older child. "There was an incident, and I ended up in hospital overnight," he said softly. Bernie's eyes went wide. "Gave your mum a terrible scare. Please, on your honor as a man, don't tell your sister. I'll never hear the end of it."
Bernie quickly stilled himself and nodded sagely at this advice. Last week, Daisy wanted to be a pop star – the week before, a detective. But her latest professional idea was that she was going to be a doctor when she grew up.
"Yes Dad."
"Go on downstairs, now. Show her how to sign her name with joined-up writing. Tell her Santa will take her more seriously if she does." And he winked. Bernie smiled and headed out.