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“Yes. Just remember how dangerous your anger can be. Keep it—”
His cell phone rang.
“You should get that.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do you know who it is?”
“No, but I think it’s important.”
He took the phone out of his pocket and read the display. RIVINGTON HOUSE.
“Hello?”
“It’s Claudette Albertson, Danny. Can you come?”
He ran a mental inventory of the hospice guests currently on his blackboard. “Amanda Ricker? Or
Jeff Kellogg?”
It turned out to be neither.
“If you can come, you better do it right away,” Claudette said. “While he’s still conscious.” She
hesitated. “He’s asking for you.”
“I’ll come.” Although if it’s as bad as you say, he’ll probably be gone when I get there. Dan broke the
connection. “I have to go, honey.”
“Even though he’s not your friend. Even though you don’t even like him.” Abra looked thoughtful.
“Even though.”
“What’s his name? I didn’t get that.”
(Fred Carling)
He sent this and then wrapped his arms around her, tight-tight-tight. Abra did the same.
“I’ll try,” she said. “I’ll try real hard.”
“I know you will,” he said. “I know you will. Listen, Abra, I love you so much.”
She said, “I’m glad.”
3
Claudette was at the nurses’ station when he came in forty-five minutes later. He asked the question
he had asked dozens of times before: “Is he still with us?” As if it were a bus ride.
“Barely.”
“Conscious?”
She waggled a hand. “In and out.”
“Azzie?”
“Was there for awhile, but scooted when Dr. Emerson came in. Emerson’s gone now, he’s checking
on Amanda Ricker. Azzie went back as soon as he left.”
“No transport to the hospital?”
“Can’t. Not yet. There was a four-car pile-up on Route 119 across the border in Castle Rock. Lots
of injuries. Four ambos on the way, also LifeFlight. Going to the hospital will make a difference to
some of them. As for Fred . . .” She shrugged.
“What happened?”
“You know our Fred—junk food junkie. Mickey D’s is his second home. Sometimes he looks when
he runs across Cranmore Avenue, sometimes he doesn’t. Just expects people to stop for him.” She
wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue, looking like a little kid who’s just gotten a mouthful of
something bad. Brussels sprouts, maybe. “That attitude.”
Dan knew Fred’s routine, and he knew the attitude.
“He was going for his evening cheeseburger,” Claudette said. “The cops took the woman who hit
him to jail—chick was so drunk she could hardly stand up, that’s what I heard. They brought Fred