'How's the pain?' the nurse inquired. Kennedy seemed to think about it for a moment, then answered, 'No pain.'
Her doctor joined them, saying, 'You gave us a scare, young lady. You lost a lot of blood from a tear in your carotid artery. We patched it together but you're going to have to take it easy for a while, not strain yourself.'
Kennedy nodded, and he patted her hand. 'We're going to keep you here a little longer, make sure everything's working right, then move you to a room.'
'How long do I have to stay here?'
'We'll see. At least a couple of days. We want to give the artery a chance to knit itself together. We don't want you moving around right now and tearing it open.'
Frank could tell Kennedy wasn't pleased with the answer though she nodded resignedly. When the nurse and doctor left Frank stood by the bed. 'Still sleepy?' she asked.
Kennedy stared up at the ceiling before replying, 'More stupid and foggy, really. And thirsty. I feel like I've been running through the Sahara.'
'I'll see if they'll let you have water yet.'
Frank returned a moment later with ice chips and slipped one into Kennedy's mouth. 'This'll have to do for now.'
Kennedy glanced at the blood on Frank's shirt.
'That all mine?'
'Sure is. And there was a helluva lot more.'
'You must have saved my life.'
'How do you figure that?'
'Keeping as much in as you did before the ambo got there.'
Frank didn't know what to say. Taking credit for saving Kennedy's life after she was the one who'd endangered it in the first place hardly seemed fair. Kennedy clamped her eyes shut, and thinking she was suddenly in pain, Frank asked, 'What is it?'
Kennedy opened her eyes, and Frank was alarmed to see tears. 'I almost died in there, didn't I?' she whispered.
Frank swallowed hard, pushing her hands down in her pockets. She nodded at Kennedy, confused by an ugly knot of shame and guilt. Kennedy closed her eyes again as a tear slowly leaked out. Frank watched it slide down her temple, amazed, even slightly envious, at how easily Kennedy let it go. As she watched the tear fall, Frank walked into another part of the day's script. With no warning, she remembered the shock that had hit her when she realized how close she'd been to dying, the pure terror of it.
Frank wanted to get the hell out of there. She wanted to go home and stand in the hot shower and drink a quart of Scotch and not remember anything ever again. A little voice in her head screamed for her to run as fast as she could. She could do that— just walk out and not look back. And she knew if she did, she was as good as dead.
Barely breathing, Frank took Kennedy's hand. It was warm and smooth, and Kennedy's fingers grabbed tightly. Frank marveled at Kennedy's ability to cry, as if it were as natural as breathing. Before she could think about it, Frank reached out with her free hand to keep the fat drops from rolling into Kennedy's ears. She was surprised and embarrassed by the tenderness of her gesture. She half expected Kennedy to tease her, but the detective only whispered, 'Sorry.'
Frank shook her head. 'Don't be. Go ahead and cry. It's pretty scary.'
'He was gonna kill me.'
Again Frank was speechless. She looked down at the hand in hers, the blood crusted in the knuckles and nails. She felt a dull justification in shooting Johnston, but it paled next to her regret.
Frank said, 'I'm sorry I got you into this.' She heard the quaver in her voice and wondered if she was helping Kennedy or just shamelessly seeking her own absolution. Kennedy tried to shrug and winced. Wiping her tears, she said simply, 'I'm a cop.'
'Yeah. And a damn good one.'
Frank squeezed Kennedy's hand and she squeezed back. Frank had to clear her throat before she could ask, 'More ice?'
'Yeah.'
Frank riddled with the slippery ice shavings while Kennedy recovered her bravado.
'So,' she teased, 'are you being my personal slave-girl now?'
Frank considered the question. She didn't think she'd ever be glad to hear Kennedy call her a slave-girl, but as she caught a piece of ice she grinned slightly. 'Looks that way.'
'You look like somethin' the cat ate and threw back up.'
When Kennedy woke up again, Frank was still in her ruined clothes, still working.
'Hey.'
Laying the statement aside, Frank noted, 'You don't look much better.'
Although the nurses had sponged off the worst of it, there was still gore matted in Kennedy's hair. Betadine yellowed her jaw and neck.
'Want some more ice?'
'Yeah.'
Kennedy accepted it eagerly. Frank asked how she felt.
'Okay, I guess. Tired.'
'It's been a long day.'
Frank waited to give her another chip, and Kennedy said, 'For you, too. Why don't you go home? You're gonna start to stink the place up.'
Frank shrugged. 'I just want to make sure you're okay.'
'I'm fine. 'Sides, that's the nurses' job.'
Frank slipped more ice in her mouth.
'Luchowski called your father, but he said he couldn't make the long flight.'
'Yeah. He's got emphysema pretty bad. It's hard for him to get around.'
'Is there someone you want me to call?'
'No.'
'Then I'll stay.'
Kennedy made a face and told Frank not to be silly. 'I'm in a hospital, for Christ's sake. What's gonna happen to me?'
Frank didn't know how to explain about the nightmares and cold sweats, or the screams that woke you out of your sleep and the terror that lingered even after you were awake.
'They're probably going to move you soon. I'll just make sure you get there and then I'll go.'
Kennedy wisely declined to argue. Shortly after, she was transferred to a double room. The other bed was empty, and Kennedy joked about keeping it empty because she might want to have a party later on. She'd already charmed her nurses. After they settled her in and left, Kennedy told Frank to bring on the dancing girls. Frank had to admire Kennedy. Under all the shock and trauma, there was still a resilient vitality.
'The only dancing girls you're going to be seeing are in your dreams, sport, so why don't you try and get some more rest.'
'Not a bad idea.' Kennedy started to yawn, but the pull in her neck cut it short. 'Only if you go home, though.'
Although Frank craved her bed and the merciful oblivion of sleep, she said, 'Tell you what, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep and then I'll go.'
'Promise?'
Frank nodded.
'Alright.'
Kennedy promptly shut her eyes. Frank sat down, propping her bloodied shoes up on the other bed. She started on the statement again, but after a few minutes Kennedy asked somberly, 'Have you ever been hurt on the line?'
