of them could be called to join him. A brief, deadly ill-SUTURE SELF
45
ness. An auto accident. Getting caught in the gunfire of
a drive-by shooting. They suddenly became energized
and all but ran out of the hospital.”
“Lovely,” Heather said absently. “Good night, Mrs.
Randall.”
Margie Randall drifted away. Judith leaned slightly
toward the nurse. “I was wondering, who operated on
Joaquin Somosa and Joan Fremont? Do you recall?”
Heather removed the blood pressure cuff from
Renie’s arm and looked at Judith. “It was Dr. Garnett,
the same surgeon who performed Mr. Randall’s surgery. I remember, because it’s sort of unusual. Surgeons specialize, like Dr. Alfonso for hips and Dr.
Ming for shoulders. But Dr. Garnett is the second in
command at Good Cheer, under Dr. Van Boeck, and he
likes to stay diversified.”
“I see,” said Judith, who wasn’t exactly sure what
Heather meant in terms of medical skill, hospital privilege, or professional hierarchy.
“The good stuff,” Renie put in, using her left elbow
to point to the IV. “Make me feel good. Or at least tolerable.”
Heather finished dispensing medication, a short,
stout woman with a blonde Dutch-boy bob drew their
blood, and, finally, the priest Judith had seen that
morning came by to visit.
“I’m Father McConnaught,” he said in a voice that indicated he wasn’t quite sure. “God bless you, Mrs. Flynn.
An Irish lass, perhaps?”
“No, actually I’m—”
He nodded at Renie. “And Mrs. Jones. Welsh, you’d
be, eh?”
“No, I’m pretty much the same as my—”
“Well, now.” Father McConnaught’s faded blue eyes
46
Mary Daheim
crinkled at the corners. He was almost bald, except for
a few strands of white hair that stood up on his head
like little wisps of smoke. “Let’s say a prayer of
thanksgiving that you both came through, eh?”
Judith and Renie dutifully said the Our Father and
the Hail Mary along with the priest, which was a good
thing because he seemed to forget some of the words
along the way.
“Now,” the priest said, smiling even wider, “how
many will this be, Mrs. Flynn?”
“How many what?” Judith asked, puzzled.
“And you, Mrs. Jones?” he inquired of Renie.
“Since I’ve only got one other arm—” Renie began.
Father McConnaught put up an arthritic hand.
“Never mind now, the Good Lord always provides
extra hands. Will we be seeing you both again next
