CHAPTER 9: HOPSCOTCH
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(30 September)
"Hey, take it easy!" he exclaimed as the sudden movement jolted his leg and sent a wave of pain through his body. Less than two hours into my last extra shift and this has to happen. Great job, Stoker, great job.
"Sorry," Ben said. "It's a little slick out here."
"Yeah, I noticed that," Mike replied dryly, thinking about how he'd discovered that fact just ten minutes earlier.
The run had sounded fairly routine based on the dispatch – an MVA on one of the interstate highway's many interchanges. Arriving on scene, 86s had found an overloaded delivery truck had rammed a small tanker filled with cooking oil, causing oil to leak and coat the surface of the swooping high-angle ramp. Mike had been working about halfway up the ramp, trying to dam the oil and prevent its further spread. He'd stepped wrong, missed the guide rope Captain Franklin had ordered strung to prevent just this kind of incident, and half-slid, half-tumbled down to the bottom of the ramp. Fortunately, he was wearing bunker pants, so he was spared the extremely ugly road rash he would have acquired in regular pants. Unfortunately, his gear didn't prevent him from bruising his knee. Or whacking his ribs. Or hyperextending his hip.
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"McConnikee residence, this is Patty."
"Hey, cuz, it's Ben."
"Benji-boo! How are you?" Rhyming queen, more than seventeen.
"I'm good. Listen, – ."
"Did you need to talk to Daddy? He's around here somewhere, laddie." Rollin' now, don't have a cow.
"No, I called to talk to you, to tell you something." He paused, not sure how to proceed. I should have just let Tommy tell her.
"I'm listening," she chirped merrily, thinking more about the coming evening than whatever Ben was trying to say. If everything went as planned, Mike would be over in time for supper; his last overtime shift would be a short one. Her father had promised to be on his best behavior and not scowl at him too much. She tucked the phone against her shoulder and went back to washing the potatoes. The white, extra-long cord stretching back to the wall-mount phone jiggled lightly as she gouged out the eyes and various nicks in the tubers before chunking them and dropping them into the crockpot.
"Uh, well, it's like this. We were called out to this traffic accident. And one of the guys got hurt."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Was it a bad accident?"
"No, not really – look, Patty, it's Mike."
"Mike?" The knife in her hand trembled. My Mike?
"Stoker. He's the one who got hurt. He's in the hospital."
"Which hospital?!"
"The ambulance took him to Rampart."
"Dad!" The phone clattered from her shoulder to the floor.
"Patty! Wait a minute!" he shouted into the phone. Benjamin, you are an idiot. A blooming idiot!
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"Do you live on the first floor?"
"Second." He ground out the answer between clenched teeth.
"That could be a problem, unless there's an elevator?"
"Nope." Whoa, there. Won't be shaking my head like that again.
"You're probably going to need some help getting around for a while, and not just with the stairs. Do you have anyone who can help?"
"I can manage."
"Maybe in seven to ten days you'll be able to tend to yourself, but not immediately. If you want to stay in the hospital a few extra days until you can arrange something, I'm sure we can work that out."
"No, ma'am, thank you. I'd rather just go home." He tried to compose his face as he met the nurse's eyes but her knowing smile suggested he'd been less than successful.
"Well, you won't be going anywhere until tomorrow at the earliest." The veteran nurse knew when to pick her battles. By tomorrow, he'd be feeling his injuries a little more and might drop the macho-I-can-take-care-of-myself routine.
"I'll make a few calls and arrange to have someone pick me up and help me stock up on groceries. Once I'm in my place, I'll be fine."
"Uh-huh." Firemen and cops, they always gotta play it tough, she thought.
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"Rampart Emergency. Nurse McCall." The crisp greeting tumbled into Hank's ear after one ring. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the towel his wife handed him when she'd called him to the phone ten minutes before, grateful a nurse he knew had answered.
"Miss McCall, it's Hank Stanley from Station 51?"
Dixie smiled, amused by the way Hank identified himself. "Captain Stanley, what can I do for you?" she asked, adding silently, as if I didn't know. She pulled Stoker's chart from the rack in anticipation.
"I understand one of my men was brought in not too long ago. Mike, Mike Stoker," he clarified then forged ahead. "I was wondering if you could tell me how, how he was doing and what the extent of his injuries are."
"Well, he took quite a tumble apparently but he's going to be just fine." The release of pent-up breath on the other end of the line confirmed Dixie's high opinion of the fire captain. "He's going to be here for a few days and …."
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(October 3)
Mike wasn't frustrated, not exactly. He was just feeling clumsy and confused, thanks in part to those stupid pain meds Dixie had popped into his mouth a few hours back. "Patty, it's not that I don't appreciate your willingness to help, but … uh, I think I'm a little bit big for you to handle on your own." There's something wrong with what I just said but I can't figure out what it is. Oh, well. "I'll just call one of the guys and have him meet us at my place. Once I climb my apartment, the stairs'll be fine on their own." Wait, I can't call the guys. They're on duty. Or, are they? Got hurt on duty so that's on one, then there's two off, one on, so that's today. But no, they were off that day, so it's one on, two off for them but one on for me, one off for me, then two on for them – no, wait, I know that's not right. Why can't I think? Those pills. Never trust a smiling Dixie, that's the new rule – .
"Specialist, why would you have anyone meet us at your place?" she asked sweetly, breaking into his rambling thoughts.
"Because that's where we're going?" She began to slowly shake her head at him, green eyes sparkling. There's something not fair about this. "That's not where we're going?" I should know where I'm going. Is she trying to take advantage of me? She nodded. "Uh, do I want to know where we're going?"
"Our house."
"Uh, our house?" When did we get a house? Houses are nice. All I got is an apartment. We don't got no house. No, no, no, I got it. Our house would be her house, and it's our house because that's where her father lives too. Next time Dixie can take those pills herself, see how she likes it.
"Yup. There's plenty of room, it's all one level, and it'll be easier for me to take care of you if we're under the same roof." Focus now, Stoker. Patty plus Daddy equals our house. Got it. Yeah for me. Wait. Mikey plus Patty plus Daddy equals, uh, equals … wait, Mikey? Did I just call myself Mikey? Those pills were a bad idea like this Mike and the McConnimees move-in thingie. Surely Daddy doesn't think – .
"Daddy thinks this is a good idea?" Uh-oh, I called him Daddy. Oopsie. "I mean, you've heard his 'Revenge of the Clan McConni-conni, er, Mc-Monkey-nee' speech, right?" Loved that speech. Rolls off the tongue. Gonna use it when I have girls of mine own … girls with big green eyes ….
"He offered," Patty said, with a tiny smile, recalling the look on her father's face when she had explained she'd be at Mike's a lot otherwise. "Okey-dokey?"
"Okey-dokey, artichoke-y. Parakeets are parsnip treats." Wait, did I just say that aloud?
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When the McConnikees moved into the house about three years after Morgan's accident, the interior looked substantially different than when Henry had first considered buying it. Henry had gutted the house completely, doing away with most of the attic space so the ceilings could be raised, removing all non-load bearing walls, relocating plumbing fixtures with impunity, and adding a wide double door to the back wall. The house which took shape in its place had been designed with Morgan and her needs in mind. Doorways and hallways were wide enough for wheelchairs. The few ramps that were needed had been integrated into the design and seemed to emphasize the flow of life from one space to the next instead of the need for a wheelchair-friendly slope. High ceilings, abundant windows, and natural breezeways created an airy feeling akin to being outside, alleviating some of his invalid wife's sensation of being cooped-up. Within a year, a smallish room at the back of the house had been outfitted with rudimentary physical therapy equipment and updated periodically.
In addition to complying with the technical specs necessity had thrust upon them, Henry had tried to make it a welcoming place, especially for family members and occasional professionals who would be helping care for Morgan. The guest 'room' was in truth a second master suite with a full bath and a generous bedroom. It had seen a lot of use over the years.
The current guest room was decorated in light shades of green and blue. The furniture, a distressed antique white, reminded Mike of birch trees and strengthened the impression of being in a forest in the mountains. Light streamed through the open windows, bathing the queen-sized bed in golden yellow. Sitting on the bed, he could just see heavy rolled blinds tucked beneath the valance. In just a moment, the room could be darkened to allow a tired guest to sleep through the day after being up during the night.
Sleep. Not a bad idea.
The car ride from the hospital to his apartment – where a smiling Gage had been waiting with a packed duffel which he readily supplemented with a green pepper, a blue washcloth, and a Scooby-Doo coloring book at Mike's slurred request – then to the pharmacy, and finally to Patty's had sapped his reserves. Silliness from the narcotic had mostly retreated from his brain, returning control of his tongue to him, but walking on crutches, even the short distance into the house, had been enough to tire him.
"So, do you want to take a nap? You look tired. Or, do you want something to eat? After the hospital food, I'm sure you would like something more edible and tasty. I can make some grilled cheese sandwiches and heat up some soup in no time at all. Or, if you want to take a shower, I can get the bathroom ready and then have Nicky come over in case you need help. He's going into physical therapy so he's got experience in helping injured people. Or, maybe you'd just like something to drink? Obviously, you can't have any alcohol but maybe some iced tea? Or coffee? I can make you some coffee. Do you want something to read? Sorry there's no television in here. I didn't think about that, sorry, I should have. Or maybe you want to sleep? That might be the best. And, don't worry about elevating your leg – the bed is adjustable. Or, did you want food or – ?"
"Patty, stop," Mike said when she'd started repeating herself, her nervousness plainly evident. Her mouth snapped shut, her eyes staring at him in mild confusion. "Come sit down over here," he continued, patting the bed beside him. He'd sunk down onto the bed about halfway through her anxious flood of words. "Now, take a few deep breaths and let them out slowly." He put his arm around her, pulling her into his uninjured side. "Okay?" She feels good there.
"I just want to take good care of you," she said, ducking her head like a little girl.
"You're doing just fine, hon," Mike responded, her innocent earnestness causing him to smile. "There is one thing you might be able to help me with," he added, recognizing her need to be reassured.
"Name it."
"I've got this … uh, well, I guess you could call it … an ache."
"Oh, your leg! I'll get your pain meds." He tightened his grip before she could get away. Stay right here, sweetheart.
"No, it's not my leg. Or my ribs."
"Where does it hurt then?" She pulled back and glared at him. "Do you have another injury you didn't tell – ."
"This is where it … aches … Nurse McConnikee," he said, pronouncing her surname carefully, and pointed to his lips.
"Hmm, maybe I could kiss it and make it better?" she said and wet her lips slightly, smiling now herself.
"I'd really appreciate if you'd try," he said as gravely as he could.
"Let me know if I hurt you, 'kay?" she said, reaching up to him. "I'd hate to make things worse." He pulled her closer against him with one arm, capturing her hand and guiding it away from his tender ribs and to his mostly intact shoulder with the other.
"That's good therapy," Stoker murmured against her hair several minutes later. "I feel much better now." He inhaled carefully to offset the oxygen debt caused by prolonged kissing with bruised ribs. Too bad I'm really not up for more than this. She feels really good next to me.
"Do you want me to stop?" Patty gently nipped his earlobe while waiting for a reply, oblivious to his limitations.
"Honestly, no, I don't," he said with a still-breathless laugh. "But I think we'd better. Somehow, I don't think your father would be too happy to find his daughter and his new house guest all wrapped up in the sheets ten minutes after walking or hobbling, as the case may be, through the front door."
On the other side of the bedroom door, Henry exhaled silently and unclenched his fist. You got that right, kid.
"You're too important for me to risk getting on his bad side," Mike continued. "Now, what were you saying about soup?" Henry heard Patty's dramatic sigh and smiled. Don't trust you yet, Stoker, but you're starting out pretty good.
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"Daddy?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Where are the cards?"
"There should be some in the table behind the couch. Why?"
"I thought Mike and I could play cards in his room for a while before bed. He's been working so many extra shifts, we've got some catching up to do. I've, well, I've missed being with him. Mom always said it was a good way to get started – ."
"Patricia! I cannot believe you would – ." Henry stopped, embarrassed. You've been here for a few hours now, Stoker, so that means it's okay to, to, uh, with my – ?
"Daddy? What's wrong with just playing cards and talking?"
"Talking?"
"Talking. Why? What did you think I meant?"
"Never mind," he muttered. "How 'bout we all play cards, out here? It'll give me a chance to get to know Mike better. If he's up to it, that is."
"Uh, okay. I'll go see while you set up the card table?"
"Sure thing, sweetie, sure thing." Henry smiled reassuringly. If you gave our daughter all your secrets, Morgan, that boy doesn't stand a chance.
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(October 4)
"Stoker? You need any help this morning?" Henry's voice floated down the hallway, startling Mike.
"Uh, no, sir, I think I can manage." He thought he'd kept most of the frustration with the process of wrapping his leg out of his voice. Knees were easy enough but the hip was a different story. To his embarrassment, Patty had served him breakfast in bed but he was determined to make it to the table for lunch. Which meant wrapping his hip, getting his clothes on and hobbling to the kitchen. Somehow. The trip to the bathroom this morning had been taxing enough, making him aware of just how sore he really was. Just have to push through it.
"Hip injuries are a bitch to wrap, aren't they?" Henry responded from the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb casually, coffee cup in his hand. He took in the extra-long Ace bandage piled up next to Mike on the bed.
"Uh, they're a challenge, yes."
"Want me to wrap it for you?" My baby's sure not gonna be doing it for you, kid.
"You've done a hip wrap before?"
"Multiple times," he said dryly. At the young man's puzzled look, Henry continued, "My wife was an invalid for over a decade, remember? I picked up a few things in that time."
"Right. Sorry." C'mon, Stoker, pull it together. "I'd appreciate the help, sir."
Henry pushed himself upright and headed for the dresser on the far wall. "Go ahead and roll that bandage back up, will you, while I get the tape. Oh, did you want to wear sweats or scrubs over it today?"
"Sweats are fine," Mike replied as he hunted for one end of the bandage. "They should be in the duffel over there."
"Not likely," Henry said with a snort and pulled open the second drawer to reveal a portion of Mike's neatly folded clothing.
"How did –?"
"Patty unpacked for you last night. She said you didn't even twitch once." Henry pulled the sweats from the drawer, closed it and then opened the bottom-most drawer. "Those pain pills hit you pretty hard, don't they?" After rummaging around for a minute, he pulled out two rolls of medical tape.
"Sometimes, yeah." One way or another, Mike thought remembering his verbal excursions of the day before.
"Okay, ready to get wrapped up?" Henry stood over him.
"Ready."
"Upsy-daisy then," he said and held out his arms to provide a solid support so Mike could pull himself up. "Let's see, where's a – I know." Henry took a step toward the nightstand, pulled open the top drawer and grabbed a hardback book from its recesses. "Okay, now, rest your foot on this, and turn your leg out slightly." Henry dropped the book to the floor, then crouched down next to it. "Grab my shoulder if you need to, for balance."
"Is that a Bible?" Stoker said in surprise, hesitantly putting his heel on the purple cover.
"Yup, it's even a Gideon Bible," Henry said with a grin up at him. "What else would you expect from Patty Mack's Bed, Breakfast and Rehab Center?" he asked and Mike laughed. "Let me have the wrap. And off with your shirt. I don't want it to bind under this thing."
"Yes, sir," Mike said, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it on the bed behind him. He felt Henry's hand on his leg, deftly manipulating it into a better position, and he wobbled slightly. The man's shoulder was far out of reach. "Uh, could you pass me that crutch?"
"I guess you are a bit taller than my wife," Henry replied with a bit of chuckle, reaching for the crutch propped against the other side of the nightstand. "Here you go," he said, handing Stoker the crutch and waiting until he was steady before starting.
Henry placed the end of the elastic bandage on the front of Mike's mid-thigh and, wrapping toward the outside of his leg, made two passes around the thigh before angling it up. He continued around the hip, across Mike's lower back to the other hip, around his waist and back again, then down across his groin to his outer thigh, behind the leg and back to the front. Henry then repeated the figure-eight pattern encompassing the hips and thigh, omitting the extra lap around the waist, until the entire length was used, finishing with an extra loop around the thigh. "Hold this right here," he said, placing Mike's hand on the end. Henry repeated the route with stretchable elastic tape before securing the end with standard medical tape. "How's that feel?" he asked Stoker when he finished.
"Good, sir."
"Not too tight anywhere?"
"No, it's good," Mike reiterated, carefully lifting his leg to test his range of movement. He felt a quick stab of pain and stopped abruptly, mindful of the doctor's admonitions. When he eased the leg back down, the pain subsided. Good.
"I'll be glad to wrap it for you every morning, or whenever you need it," Henry said, tossing the unused supplies across the room and into the still-open drawer before standing up. "I can also help you with your physical therapy exercises."
"Patty already offered to help with those," Mike admitted. "But, actually, I'm used to doing things pretty much on my own." To prove his point, he dropped the sweats he had neatly cufffed onto the floor and toed first one foot then the other into the legs. A modified one-legged squat brought his hand within reach of the top edge of the sweats and back up with only a faint grimace of pain. Bad idea, Stoker.
Nice, kid, nice – but I saw that look. "Nonetheless, the offer still stands. And, when Patty runs out of personal time at work – ."
Mike paused in the middle of sliding the sweats over his hips, frowning. "I thought she said she had a couple of weeks coming to her."
Henry smiled, amused by Mike's innocence when it came to sweet Patty Mack's machinations. "She does, in a way," he said, ticking the points off on his fingers. "The rest of this week is fall break at the university. She told me she planned to use all of her vacation and sick time to be off for the two weeks or so after that. When that time was used up, she said something about working half-days until you returned to duty."
"All of her – she doesn't need to do that! I mean, in a few days, I'll be able to take care of myself anyway."
"Given the look of the bruises you're sporting, I think it'll be more than a few days before you're able to look after yourself completely. How long do you think it'll be until you can bend enough to wrap your hip on your own, eh?" He moved over to the dresser and pushed the drawer shut with one foot, sliding the third drawer open to reveal a selection of neatly folded t-shirts. Henry raised an eyebrow at Stoker who nodded. "Patty can be a little stubborn – you may have noticed that – especially if she's in caregiver mode. She won't be happy if you try to leave before she thinks you're up for it. No, I'd say you better expect to be here for a week or more." He paused to let that sink in, tossing one of the shirts to Mike. "And, then you can expect her to check on you once or twice a day, and provide all your meals."
"That's really not necessary." Mike caught the shirt one-handed, careful not to aggravate his ribs.
"She'll also want to do other things for you. Like clean your apartment. Do your laundry. Rearrange your sock drawer. Get the oil changed in your truck. That kind of thing." Henry kept his face neutral as he sipped more coffee from the cup he'd retrieved from the nightstand, enjoying the look of dismay creeping over Mike's face.
"Are you serious?"
"Yup." Henry grinned. "Did I ever mention Patty is a lot like her momma?"
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This story is going in directions I didn't anticipate so there's gonna be some rearranging of the next few chapters I thought I had already completed. Sorry for the delay.