Thirteen West (19 page)

"I—I guess so," Sally said.

"Wow, such enthusiasm. Don't you know you're the first girl anyone here knows of him asking out? And the hospital grapevine is very efficient."

"I heard something of the sort from Janet," Sally admitted.

"You act scared to death. Are you?"

Sally's answer was a nervous smile.

"Then why did you agree?"

"I—it's all right," Sally insisted, reluctant to explain what led up to it.

Alma
shrugged and gathered up her notes for report. Later, as the three of them walked to the parking lot, Sally found herself in the middle.

"You be nice to this girl, you hear me, Frank?"
Alma
said when they reached her car.

"I hear you."

Sally gripped her hands together as they watched
Alma
drive away.

"My car's here," Frank said, indicating the red Corvette.

"I—thanks, but you don't have to take me anywhere," Sally said. "I'm really tired."

"I'll drive you over to the apartments."

"Oh, no, you don't have to."

"I insist." He took her arm and led her to his car.

She didn't look at him all the way there. Neither spoke.

Sally tried to hurry out of the car before Frank could have a chance to follow her but the seat belt fastening took time to undo and, when she did manage to release herself, he was already outside the car, opening her door.

"Thank you for the ride. And for rescuing me from an unpleasant situation," she said.

"I'd like to be invited in for a cup of coffee," he said. "Or tea. Or whatever. We need to discuss Janet Young."

Resigned, Sally let him follow her up the stairs. He stood aside while she unlocked her door. "Number 32," he said. "Just my age."

She felt a brief flash of amusement as he followed her in. A father at twelve, according to Janet.

"Do you think I'm too old, is that it?" he asked.

I wish he wouldn't loom, she thought.

"Please sit down," she said primly. "I'll make some tea."

He waved a hand, dismissing the tea, and once again sat wrong side to on a straight-backed chair. "You didn't answer my question.

"Your age doesn't make any difference to me," she said truthfully. "I'm grateful for being rescued but it doesn't change how I feel about you."

"And how is that?"

She perched uneasily on the edge of the lounge. "You make me nervous."

"So you're still afraid of what I represent—that specter from your past. I won't accept that it's me. What have I ever done to—?" He broke off and smiled ruefully. "Well, I admit I might have frightened you the other night, but you were wary of me before that."

"I wish you'd just leave me alone," she said.

"Leave you to Janet Young?"

She flushed.

"What was that all about?" he asked. "Are you interested in her? You looked like a bird being terrorized by a snake."

"You're no different than she is," Sally snapped. "Why can't both of you leave me be? Pushing your way into my life when I don't want either of you there."

"Is that what she was doing? Why didn't you tell her to flake off? You've told me in no uncertain terms."

"Then why don't you?" Sally folded her arms and glared at him.

He held her gaze, making her again notice the golden wedge in the brown iris of his right eye. "Is it because I'm a man?" he asked. "If that's what it is, I can understand. I didn't realize—I mean, I know I accused you of luring poor David over here because you'd discovered he was no threat, but that was jealousy talking. I hadn't considering that you might actually prefer a woman."

"No!" Her vehemence surprised Sally. "I mean that's not the reason," she said more calmly. "I don't know why I'm nervous around you. I've never been comfortable with big men. Like you said, you can't help being big. I can't help my feeling, either."

"Could you try?"

She shook her head. "Why does it have to be me?" she asked.

"Because of the way you look—so young."

"I'm not all that young—I'll be twenty in two weeks. Is it that you prefer younger women?"

"Not exactly." He got to his feet. "It's too difficult to explain." He looked positively agonized as he added, "I can't talk about it."

Sally rose, too, for the first time feeling a faint stir of pity. "I'm sorry."

"That's all right—it has nothing to do with you. Good night."

After he left, she stared at the closed door for a long moment before crossing to hook the safety chain. Everyone she'd met here except for Alma and Connie seemed to have a problem. Well, maybe Dr. Jacobs was okay but Frank and Janet and poor David... She shook her head.

Laura Jean had called Grace Geibel a creep and somehow the name fit—Grace was peculiar. Lew Alinosky apparently had marital problems.

How about me? Sally asked herself. Do I prefer women? In high school she'd liked the few boys who'd asked her out. Then she met Em. But she hadn't picked Em, she'd been chosen by her. It was easy being with Em at first, but then she changed.

But Janet—ugh. Sally grimaced with distaste. No way. She had no intention of letting the woman into her apartment or her life.

David? Poor David. She'd liked him kissing her. Maybe she would have liked more, if he'd been able to. Now, though, she'd never be sure she hadn't chosen him because, deep down, she'd known he was "safe," as Frank put it.

Frank. The other night when he'd grabbed her she'd been so frightened she had actually fainted. For the first time it occurred to her that that had been a rather extreme reaction.

* * *

On Thirteen West, Joe Thompson didn't dare try to sleep, not after last night's incident. He'd ordered Willie and Zenda to stay awake as well. When he heard the key in the lock of the inner door to Thirteen West, he knew it had begun, just as he'd figured. He left the nursing station to take a swift look up and down the ward, hoping Willie had been listening to what he said. He was pretty sure Zenda would be okay.

Joe turned to face the opening door, "Hello, Dr.
Fredericks
," he said without surprise.

"Good evening, Mr. Thompson."

Jesus, he's a big bastard, Joe thought, watching him advance.

"I thought I might take a stroll about the ward," the superintendent went on. "No, don't let me keep you from your duties. I prefer to go by myself."

Joe nodded.

Dr. Fredericks didn't move. After a moment, he said, "I understand from Mr. Luera, the night supervisor, that you normally make rounds as soon as you come on duty, take care of any problems encountered, then ready the charts—new sheets or whatever—for the next day. Rounds are made every two to four hours, depending on what type of patients you have. Here on Thirteen West, two hour rounds are in force. Correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"I believe the night shift also does routine clean-up chores—wheelchairs and so on?"

"We do, Doctor."

"Then, at this time of night, having finished your first rounds, you would be tending to the charts?"

"I was doing that when you arrived," Joe said.

"Very good. Where are the other two techs?"

"Both Mrs. Holm and Mr. Rhone are out on the ward. I'm not quite sure—"

"Fine. I'll come across them, no doubt. Thank you, Mr. Thompson. Don't let me keep you from the charts."

Joe watched Nellie continue on. I hope to hell they heard him come in, he thought. He pinned me here awful damn neat.

In the day room, Sven Taterson sat glaring at Willie Rhone. "No, I won't go back in that room. I'll sleep out here if I have to."

"You're the one asked for another roommate. So, you got one." Willie laughed. "What'd old W.W. do, make a pass at your asshole?"

"Aw, shit," Tate said. "No use talking to you."

"Watch it, man. Careful what you—" Willie broke off, conscious someone was coming. The door opened.

"Uh, hello, Dr. Fredericks," Willie said.

"Dr. Fredericks!" Tate jumped to his feet and rushed over to grasp the doctor's arm. "You got to listen to me."

"Okay, Tate, take it easy," Willie said, putting a hand on Tate's shoulder, "Don't bother the doctor. Come on back to your room now."

"No, let me talk to him," Dr. Fredericks ordered.

"They put me over here and I don't like it," Tate said. "I used to have friends on my old ward but they put me here and first I had a crazy jump me and now they got me in with one of them homos. It's not right."

"What's your name?" the superintendent asked.

"Sven Taterson. I used to be on Twelve East, wasn't so bad over there, I was getting better. Here, my nerves are all shot."

"I'll look into it, Mr. Taterson. Meanwhile I suggest you go to bed."

"I can't. Didn't I say they put me in with a homo? I won't sleep in there."

Dr. Fredericks looked at Willie.

"Uh, W.W.—Mr. Weebles—won't bother him, never has bothered nobody. Tate—Mr. Taterson—just don't like the man."

"Then I suggest we find him another room." Dr. Fredericks smiled at both men. "We want you on Thirteen West, Mr. Taterson. We know having you here is good for others of our patients and for you, too, although you may not be happy right at this moment. In group therapy perhaps you can ferret out your dislike of Mr. Weebles. For now I'll see your room is changed. Is that satisfactory?" Dr. Frederick's manner suggested it better be.

"Yeah, well, it's something," Tate grumbled.

Dr. Fredericks walked to the door.

"You want me to come with you, Doctor?" Willie asked.

"No, that won't be necessary. Go ahead and arrange the room change with Mr. Thompson. Good night, Mr. Taterson."

Zenda was in the women's four bed room, changing Mrs. Exeter, one of the incontinent patients, when she looked up with a start to see Dr. Fredericks.

"Isn't it customary to offer some privacy for this?" he asked.

"Oh, my, yes, sir. That is, I used to close the door on days but there's no one around at night so..."

"I'm around," he said.

Zenda pulled up the side rail of the bed and walked over to close the door.

"You've been with us a long time, Mrs. Holm," he said. "One of our most experienced and trusted employees."

"Uh, yes, sir."

"Hello, Daddy," Mrs. Exeter said from her bed.

Dr. Fredericks ignored her, focusing on Zenda. "You must have an opinion about the incident with Laura Jean McRead."

Zenda tried to gather her wits, avoiding his gaze as best she could. "I—I wasn't right there when it happened, you know, Doctor," she said finally. "Whatever it was that did happen."

"Perhaps you'd rather come to my office and discuss this with me in private."

Zenda knew a threat when she heard one. "But I really don't know anything for sure."

"I intend to discuss it with you all the same. Where, is your choice?"

"If I go to your office, everyone will think..." She broke off, biting her lip.

"Mrs. Holm, I'll give you my private line number, the one that doesn't go through the hospital switchboard." He wrote on a card and handed it to her. "I'll be expecting your call. Shall we say nine this morning? That should allow you sufficient time to get home."

Zenda stared at him sullenly.

"I will expect that call, Mrs. Holm," he said. "Good night."

Left alone, Zenda looked at the phone number he'd given her. "Bastard," she muttered. What the hell was she going to do now? All she'd ever wanted was to mind her own business, but it was as if he knew she could tell him what had happened to Laura Jean.