An Honorable Man by Paul Vidich

able to put his mind around the fact that he had been run off the road. He was on his back in wet earth. He looked at his hands. One ached, but no blood, just bruises mixed with clay and pebbles embedded in his palm. He moved his neck without feeling pain and then saw his bike. It lay on its side against a boulder that erupted from the side of the ditch. Two spokes had popped from the front rim, bent and unridable. He stood and that’s when he knew how badly he was injured. A horrible pain shot up his thigh. A dark wetnessseeped from a tear in his trousers. On the ground there was a pointy stick that had snapped from a sapling.
    Mueller limped to his bicycle and he confirmed his initial opinion. It couldn’t be ridden. But, in a way, that didn’t matter because he didn’t think he’d be able to work the pedal with his injured thigh. He’d have to walk the bike to town, and that inconvenience, even more than the injury, irritated him.
    â€œIdiot,” he said, under his breath.
    He remembered the cashier’s advisory, and Mueller admonished himself for not being more careful, but then dismissed his part in the accident. The car was too big. The road too narrow. Its speed too great. And it had all happened in a split second. The driver, the one he’d had words with, was entirely to blame. “Idiot,” he said.
    Mueller had walked a few steps when he saw a small sports car approach from the direction of Centreville. The red convertible slowed and Mueller saw the driver, a young woman in dark glasses and colorful scarf tied under her chin. Her hair whipped behind in the wind. She must see the incongruity of a bicyclist walking his bike, Mueller thought, and he considered whether the two-seater would be able to hold him and the bike. It was getting on to dusk. Better to get a ride and he could always come back for the bike.
    Mueller signaled as she passed, and he thought, No, she isn’t going to stop. He glanced back. Stop lady. Have a heart. Surprisingly, he saw her pull over a short ways down the road. Mueller pointed his numb foot in the right direction. He wasn’t aware how much he’d bled until he felt the blood slosh in his shoe. Hishand went to his thigh wound and there was a fierce tenderness. He became aware that the young woman was speaking to him in a loud voice, asking a lot of questions, standing there beside him, trying to get his attention. Somewhere in his struggle to provide answers he felt an overwhelming dizziness.

6
----
    BETH ENTERS THE PICTURE
    M UELLER BECAME aware that he was in an unfamiliar room. His long groggy dream tapered off without an ending and vanished in the lifting fog of a fevered sleep and the bright light that seemed to be everywhere. He blinked. There were only sensations at first. He opened and closed his hand, feeling his fingers. He did not comprehend the large canopy that spread over his bed, or the pillows under his head, or the many shelves of children’s books in the room. He became aware he was breathing. Then came the questions, one after the other. Where was he? How did he get here?
    He heard a woman’s voice outside in the hall. He couldn’t see anyone through the half-open door, but there was no mistaking her loud instructions.
    â€œThere will be twelve tonight for dinner, Lizzy. I want the linen tablecloth, and the nice glasses, and Mother’s silverware.It’s an event and I want it to be festive. Do you think anyone has flowers this time of year? Will you remember it will be twelve? I want the extra place setting in case he is well enough to join.”
    Mueller saw a shadow move in the dark hall, and suddenly a young woman came through the door and approached the bed. She wore dark glasses and a soiled work coat over scruffy blue jeans. Her hair was long, whiskey-colored, windblown, and her face was red from sun or cold and streaked with dirt where she’d wiped the back of her gloves. She removed the