An Ice Cold Grave by Charlaine Harris Page B

injury, you’ll need some pain meds. After that, I think Tylenol will do you.”
    â€œCan I get out of bed and walk a little?”
    â€œIf you feel up to it, and if you have someone with you at all times, you can stroll down the hall and back a time or two. Of course if you experience any dizziness, nausea, that kind of thing, it’s time to get back in the bed.”
    â€œShe’s already talking about checking out of the hospital,” Tolliver said. He was trying for a neutral tone, but he fell far short.
    The doctor said, “You know that’s not a good idea.” He looked from me to him. I may have looked a little sullen. “You need to let your brother get some rest, too,” the doctor said. “He’s going to have to take care of you for a few days, young lady. Give him a break. You really need to be here. We need to observe that head of yours. And you’ve got at least a bit of insurance, I think?”
    Of course there was no way I could insist on being released after he’d said that. Only a bad person would refuse to give her brother a break. And I hoped I wasn’t such a bad person. Dr. Thomason was counting on that. Tolliver was counting on that.
    I debated making myself so unpleasant the hospital would be glad to be rid of me. But that would only make Tolliver unhappy. I looked at him, really looked at him, and I saw the circles under his eyes, the slump in his shoulders. He looked older than twenty-eight. “Tolliver,” I said, regret and self-reproach in my voice. He stepped over and took my good hand. I put his knuckles against my cheek, and the sun came in the window and made a pool of warmth against my face. I loved him more than anything, and he should never know that.
    With a sudden briskness, Dr. Thomason said, “Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning, at least. You can have a regular diet the rest of the day, I’ll tell them at the desk. You take it easy today, and get well.” He was out of the room before I could say anything else, and I let go of Tolliver’s hand, guiltily aware I’d held on to him far too long. And I didn’t mean holding his hand against my cheek, which was comforting for us both.
    He leaned over to kiss my cheek. “I’m gonna go shower and have breakfast and a nap,” he said. “Please, don’t try to get out of bed by yourself while I’m gone. Promise you’ll ring for a nurse.”
    â€œI promise,” I said, wondering why everyone seemed to think I would break the rules as soon as their back was turned. The only odd thing about me was that I’d been struck by lightning. I didn’t think of myself as a rebel, a hell-raiser, a rabble-rouser, or anything else exciting or upsetting.
    After he left, I found myself at a loss. I didn’t have a book; Tolliver had promised to bring me one when he returned. I had doubts about whether my head could tolerate reading anyway. Maybe I’d ask him to bring an audiobook and my little CD player with its headphones.
    After ten minutes’ boredom, I carefully scrutinized the controls on the side of my hospital bed. I succeeded in turning on the television. The channel that came on was a hospital channel, and I watched people come in and out of the lobby. Even though my boredom threshold was quite high, that palled after ten minutes. I switched to a news channel. As soon as I did, I was sorry.
    The quiet, derelict home in its picturesque setting looked a great deal different now from how it looked a day before. I remembered how lonely the site had felt, how isolated. And after all, there’d been enough privacy there to bury eight young men with no one the wiser. Now you couldn’t sneeze up there without four people rushing at you with microphones.
    I was assuming the film I was seeing was very recent, maybe even live, because the sun looked about in the same position as the sun I could see outside my window. By the