smile. “How are you?”
Peter Garnett straightened his shoulders and regained his usual urbane expression. “Very well, thank
you. It appears as if Dr. Alfonso has done his usual outstanding job. I see you’re out and about today.”
“Yes,” Judith responded, “I’m very grateful to him.
In fact, I appreciate everyone on the staff here at Good
Cheer. When I get home, I’m going to write a thankyou letter to the board.”
Dr. Garnett’s trim mustache twitched slightly.
“You are? That’s very kind. Now if you’ll excuse me,
I must return to my office.”
“My,” Judith said as Corinne rolled her down the
hall, “Dr. Garnett seemed sort of surprised that I’d
write a letter of appreciation. Don’t patients do that
once in a while?”
“I believe they do,” Corinne replied in her noncommittal way.
“Maybe I shouldn’t send it to the board,” Judith
mused. “Maybe I should send it to Dr. Alfonso directly.
Would it be passed on to the rest of you?”
“It might,” Corinne said, steering Judith past the
luncheon carts, which had just arrived on the floor.
Renie paused to examine the carts, but the sliding
doors were locked.
“I’ll have to think about the addressee,” Judith said.
“What would you do, Nurse Appleby?”
“About what?” Corinne asked as they reached Judith
and Renie’s ward.
“The letter,” Judith said. “Who would you send it to?”
SUTURE SELF
179
“That depends,” Corinne said. “Here, let’s get you
lined up with the bed.”
Judith figured it was useless to press the nurse with
further questions. Corinne was a clam. Or, Judith considered charitably, very discreet.
Feeling more confident, if not actually stronger, she
was able to get back into bed without much difficulty.
Judith was surprised, however, to discover that her excursion down the hall had tired her out.
“I can’t believe how weak I am,” she sighed as
Corinne adjusted the IV drip.
“That’s natural,” Corinne said. “That’s why you
have to go at it slowly but steadily.”
Ten minutes later, after Corinne had taken the
cousins’ vitals and gone on her way, Judith and Renie
went back to their speculations.
“I thought Bob Jr.’s remark about his mother being
‘the vessel’ was very interesting,” Judith said. “What
do you think he meant?”
“Whatever his goofy mother meant when she told
him that,” Renie replied. “I kind of think Margie Randall might enjoy being an Angel of Death.”
“I think she meant something else,” Judith countered. “I mean, what if Margie was the one who . . .”
She stopped, her forehead furrowed in thought. “What
