thing, and — ”
“Remember,” I said, “live traps. No reason to kill our houseguest.”
She nodded again.
Enough about Mickey, I thought and dug into my eggs.
Michelle seemed in agreement. “I called the children’s ward while you were showering,” she said and bit into a slice of toast.
“I was going to ask you if you had.”
“Will’s sleeping in.” Her eyes lowered, and her voice was somber. “I think we stayed too late last night.”
I recalled the night before when we’d sat at William’s bedside and talked to him about the coming test results. His hopes were high. My son had given me a big grin and said, “I want to play catch again, Daddy. And ride my bike.” Michelle had broken into tears then and had to leave William’s hospital room.
I reached across the table and took her hand. “Mish, don’t worry. Good news today. Gotta think positive.”
She looked up at me, her eyes sad and teary. “You won’t forget our appointment?”
She was referring to my little memory problem of late, and I couldn’t blame her. “How could I forget it?” I smiled at her. “Thought we might bring Will a present. You know, maybe something that’ll cheer him up a little . . . give him something to shoot for.”
Michelle didn’t ask what. I released her hand, and she wiped her eyes with her napkin.
I slurped my coffee and used a slice of toast to sop up some egg yolk. “What do you think about snow skis?”
She frowned, an incredulous look in her eyes. “Robert, he’s paralyzed. What if Dr. Xiang has bad news?”
“He won’t. Look, winter’s coming. Maybe Will’ll be walking before it’s over.” I frowned realizing how ridiculous that was. Even if Will qualified for the experimental surgery he needed, it would be weeks or even months before we could get him in and, after that, there would be months of therapy ahead. I recanted, “If not this year, maybe next. If we give him the skis, he’ll know for sure he’s going to get better — he’ll be encouraged, it’ll lift his spirits. I had a pair of kid’s skis and snow boots his size delivered to the store last week. We can wait until after Doc Xiang tells us the test results, then we’ll go to Will’s room and break the good news to him with the skis. Good plan?”
One corner of Michelle’s mouth curled up again, and I realized why I loved her. She smiled that same way last year when William had made her a mud birthday cake on the breakfast-nook table. “Wonderful plan,” she said softly.
I took two chomps from a piece of bacon and said, “Doc Xiang’s a big man with a big heart. We’re lucky to have such a caring doctor, don’t you think?” I suddenly had one of those déjà vu moments that makes a person pause. It was as if I’d heard or perhaps even said those exact words before, not long ago.
This is weird, my Harvey voice told me.
I pictured the white rabbit again, its switch off. In my mind, I plucked out its batteries. But I knew what Michelle was going to say, and I couldn’t help chewing vacuously as I watched and waited for her response.
“Very lucky,” she said in an almost rehearsed, mechanical manner. “Dr. Xiang is a good man and — ”
In my mind, I finished the sentence with her, and a good friend .
I was right, word for word. It made me shiver. I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle, and I had a sudden feeling — a premonition of sorts — of impending trouble. I whispered, “Very weird.”
“What?” she asked, but then turned her attention to the weather report on the TV.
Jerry Denton, the local weatherman for more years than I could remember, told of a beautiful morning ahead, highs in the low seventies and marred only by haze from a forest fire now under control in Estes Park, a hundred miles away. By late afternoon, however, temperatures were to drop, and scattered rain in the early evening would quickly turn to snow. There could be an accumulation of up to fifteen inches in
“Remember,” I said, “live traps. No reason to kill our houseguest.”
She nodded again.
Enough about Mickey, I thought and dug into my eggs.
Michelle seemed in agreement. “I called the children’s ward while you were showering,” she said and bit into a slice of toast.
“I was going to ask you if you had.”
“Will’s sleeping in.” Her eyes lowered, and her voice was somber. “I think we stayed too late last night.”
I recalled the night before when we’d sat at William’s bedside and talked to him about the coming test results. His hopes were high. My son had given me a big grin and said, “I want to play catch again, Daddy. And ride my bike.” Michelle had broken into tears then and had to leave William’s hospital room.
I reached across the table and took her hand. “Mish, don’t worry. Good news today. Gotta think positive.”
She looked up at me, her eyes sad and teary. “You won’t forget our appointment?”
She was referring to my little memory problem of late, and I couldn’t blame her. “How could I forget it?” I smiled at her. “Thought we might bring Will a present. You know, maybe something that’ll cheer him up a little . . . give him something to shoot for.”
Michelle didn’t ask what. I released her hand, and she wiped her eyes with her napkin.
I slurped my coffee and used a slice of toast to sop up some egg yolk. “What do you think about snow skis?”
She frowned, an incredulous look in her eyes. “Robert, he’s paralyzed. What if Dr. Xiang has bad news?”
“He won’t. Look, winter’s coming. Maybe Will’ll be walking before it’s over.” I frowned realizing how ridiculous that was. Even if Will qualified for the experimental surgery he needed, it would be weeks or even months before we could get him in and, after that, there would be months of therapy ahead. I recanted, “If not this year, maybe next. If we give him the skis, he’ll know for sure he’s going to get better — he’ll be encouraged, it’ll lift his spirits. I had a pair of kid’s skis and snow boots his size delivered to the store last week. We can wait until after Doc Xiang tells us the test results, then we’ll go to Will’s room and break the good news to him with the skis. Good plan?”
One corner of Michelle’s mouth curled up again, and I realized why I loved her. She smiled that same way last year when William had made her a mud birthday cake on the breakfast-nook table. “Wonderful plan,” she said softly.
I took two chomps from a piece of bacon and said, “Doc Xiang’s a big man with a big heart. We’re lucky to have such a caring doctor, don’t you think?” I suddenly had one of those déjà vu moments that makes a person pause. It was as if I’d heard or perhaps even said those exact words before, not long ago.
This is weird, my Harvey voice told me.
I pictured the white rabbit again, its switch off. In my mind, I plucked out its batteries. But I knew what Michelle was going to say, and I couldn’t help chewing vacuously as I watched and waited for her response.
“Very lucky,” she said in an almost rehearsed, mechanical manner. “Dr. Xiang is a good man and — ”
In my mind, I finished the sentence with her, and a good friend .
I was right, word for word. It made me shiver. I felt the hair on the back of my neck prickle, and I had a sudden feeling — a premonition of sorts — of impending trouble. I whispered, “Very weird.”
“What?” she asked, but then turned her attention to the weather report on the TV.
Jerry Denton, the local weatherman for more years than I could remember, told of a beautiful morning ahead, highs in the low seventies and marred only by haze from a forest fire now under control in Estes Park, a hundred miles away. By late afternoon, however, temperatures were to drop, and scattered rain in the early evening would quickly turn to snow. There could be an accumulation of up to fifteen inches in
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