“I don’t know.”
And that about summed it up.
Back at the house, Ginny already had her blouse off before Morgan could decide to protest or not. He didn’t want her. He felt guilty about not writing, and he was full of pizza.
He was, however, beginning to develop some sort of friendly feeling toward her, like for a distant niece or a cat. But he didn’t want to sleep with her again, not now. It just wasn’t in him. Even when she stripped completely, running her stiff fingers down between her furry folds, he couldn’t quite imagine taking her in broad daylight after a heavy meal. It had been different during the driving rainstorm. Or maybe it was different now. Maybe everything was changing. Maybe
The phone rang.
She’d already slipped into his bed. “Let it ring.”
“It might be important.” He grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Is this Jay Morgan?” A woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“This is Nurse Benneton at County General Hospital. We have a Louis Reams here. He’s been injured, and he listed you as a contact name. Can you possibly come down and pick him up?”
“He listed me?”
“Yes, sir. Can you come down in the next twenty minutes or so?”
“But why would he list me?”
A pause. “Sir?”
“I don’t want to pick him up.”
Another pause. “He really shouldn’t drive himself.”
“How bad is he? What happened?”
“I’m afraid I can’t release patient-”
“But you called me to pick him up, right? Doesn’t that entitle me to know what happened?”
Ginny came to the bedroom doorway, holding a sheet over her but failing to cover up any of the important parts. She mouthed the words “what’s wrong?”
Morgan waved her quiet. To the nurse he said, “Never mind. I’ll be down as soon as I can.” He hung up.
Ginny asked, “What is it?”
“I have to pick up a friend from the hospital,” Morgan said. “Sorry, but I have to go.”
“Is he hurt bad?”
“I’m sure he’s okay,” Morgan said.
“I’ll wait here for you,” Ginny said.
Morgan sighed. “Sure.” He closed the door behind him.
Reams sat in the passenger seat of Morgan’s car with his left hand in the air and his head down between his knees. A thick white bandage was tightly wrapped around his middle finger. Reams breathlessly related the story.
He’d been sawing wood with a particularly wicked little saw which had neatly sliced off the top half inch of the finger. Blood had spurted, and Reams had run in circles for a bit before calling an ambulance.
Morgan said Reams could probably have wrapped the finger in a towel and driven himself to the hospital.
“Too light-headed,” Reams had explained. “I saw stars. I never believed that about seeing stars before, but I do now. I felt I was spiraling down into a long black hole, slipping right out of the daylight, swimming toward a long cottony sleep.”
It sounded like something Reams had read in a Raymond Chandler novel.
Morgan turned onto Reams’s road. “I’m taking you home. You need to stop anywhere first, get a prescription or anything?”
Reams shook a little bottle of pills in the other hand. “These will get me by for a day or two. Doctor had some samples. For pain.” Reams still had his head between his legs.
“Jesus, will you sit up?” Morgan said.
“I need to sit like this. Isn’t this what you’re supposed to do?”
“That’s for airline crashes. That’s crash position you’re in.”
Reams said, “I thought I was supposed to let the blood flow to my head, or out of my head, or something.”
“I’ll have you home in a few minutes and you can stick your head in a bucket if you want.”
“Dammit all, Morgan, have a heart why don’t you? I’ve been mortally wounded.”
“It’s just your finger.”
“I think I sliced an artery,” Reams said. “If I’d passed out before I made it to the phone, I most likely would have bled to death.”
Morgan doubted that.
“I’m feeling a little ill even now. I’ve had a shock to the system. That’s how these seemingly little injuries can sometimes be serious. They shock the system.”
“Don’t puke in my car,” Morgan said.
Morgan parked in Reams’s driveway. Sluggishly, Reams climbed out, still holding his hand over his head. It looked like he was flipping the bird to the whole neighborhood. He fished his keys out of his pocket with the other hand.
“Thanks, Morgan. I didn’t know who else to call, but I knew you said you’d be home all day.”
“Go take one of your pills,” Morgan said.
“Right.” Reams closed the car door, took two steps toward his house, and stopped. He swayed. A pause. Reams tumbled, wilted facefirst into the front lawn.
Morgan watched for a few seconds, but Reams didn’t get back up.
“Hell.” Morgan shut off the car, climbed out, and picked Reams up from the grass. “You okay?”
“Hmm? What?” Reams rubbed his head. “See, I told you. I asked the doctor for a transfusion, but he wouldn’t do it. Damn quack.”
“Uh-huh.” Morgan dragged Reams to the front door, took his keys, and unlocked it. They went in. Morgan draped Reams on the sofa.
“Thanks, Morgan. I really owe you even more now.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, really. First that craziness with Pritcher and now this. I think you ought to come down to Houston with me. I know I can put in a word with that guy I know, get you a job lined up for fall.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” Reams squirmed on the sofa, arranged it so his hand was elevated above his head. “What’s it like?”
Morgan sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair across from Reams. “What’s what like?”
“The gypsy prof gig, moving around all the time?”
Morgan thought about it. “I used to like it, or thought I did. Changing scenery all the time helped me not think about other things. But I think I’m getting tired of it. I think maybe I need some roots. It’s time to start putting my energies back into my work, you know? Hard to accomplish anything when you’re always worried about your next paycheck.”
But Reams didn’t hear. He snored lightly, middle finger over his head, blazing white to the world.
twenty-seven
While waiting for Morgan to return, Ginny Conrad went through all the professor’s
