Have you determined a GCS?”
Yuan stared at her as if she had suddenly materialized from another dimension. “You are familiar with Glasgow Coma Scoring?”
“I am.”
The conversation immediately dissolved into a complicated discussion of neurological scales, both of them talking in medical shorthand—incomprehensible acronyms and inexplicable synonyms—all of which meant nothing to Simon, and only added to the confusion about Big Jake’s condition. Billie looked equally bewildered, her attention drawn to the scene beyond the glass: a nurse changing one of the IV bags feeding life into her husband’s arm. Simon tried to concentrate on other things, not wanting to think of Big Jake Rynerson lying in a vegetative state for the rest of his life, but his mind kept spinning back to that very thought, the way a tongue keeps picking at a popcorn husk caught between the teeth. A sudden change in the medical debate refocused his attention.
“Move?” Kyra stared at the doctor in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? Move him where?”
Dr. Yuan looked at Billie, who looked at her daughter. “We’re moving him to Bangkok.”
“Bangkok?” Kyra repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. “Why?”
Billie turned back to the doctor. “Thank you, Dr. Yuan. We sure do appreciate all you’re doing here.”
Yuan not only took the hint, he couldn’t escape fast enough, bowing and backing his way out of the room. Kyra waited until the door closed before going on the attack. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Well, ah course it is,” Billie answered, her West Texas twang flat with sarcasm. “I can’t imagine a more appropriate time for humor.”
“He’s in no condition to travel.”
“It’s only a two-hour flight. They’ve got a first-rate medical facility.”
“But why take the risk?”
Billie raised her chin, the expression of someone sitting with crossed arms. “Dr. Yuan assures me the risk is minimal.”
“We’re talking about Dad’s life,” Kyra shot back. “There is no minimal. ”
“You’re right, it’s his life, and I don’t believe he’s safe here.”
“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t he be safe?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Kyra, your father was shot.”
“A random shooting, you said. A botched robbery. It wasn’t personal.”
“Well, yes,” Billie answered, “but it’s not that simple.” She motioned toward the pair of tubular metal chairs. “Let’s sit down.”
Kyra expelled a deep breath—the exasperated sigh of an adult child when they’re being pushed into something by a parent—and lowered herself onto the vinyl cushion. Simon edged back against the door, hoping neither of them would try to enlist his support—a no-win entanglement, no matter what he said.
Billie slid into the second chair. “What I’m about to tell you—” She glanced at Simon, letting him know the admonition was all-inclusive. “Can’t leave this room.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Mother, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not your style.”
“I assure you, I am not being dramatic, Kyra. This is serious. I mean it. I want your word…both of you…nothing will leave this room.”
“Of course,” Simon answered without hesitation, hoping Kyra would take the hint and give her mother some slack. “Whatever you say, Billie.”
Kyra shrugged wearily and sat back. “Okay. Sure. What’s the big secret?”
Billie glared back at her, ready to pounce, then apparently thought better of it and simply responded to her daughter’s sarcasm. “Yes, Kyra, that’s exactly what it is…a secret.” She paused, still groping for the right words. “Your father’s been working on something very important with the President.”
Kyra glanced at Simon, then back to her mother. “The president of what?”
“The president of the United States.”
“Oh.” She gave her mother a puzzled, somewhat mistrustful look. “I thought Daddy hated politicians?”
“Normally that’s true, but he
Yuan stared at her as if she had suddenly materialized from another dimension. “You are familiar with Glasgow Coma Scoring?”
“I am.”
The conversation immediately dissolved into a complicated discussion of neurological scales, both of them talking in medical shorthand—incomprehensible acronyms and inexplicable synonyms—all of which meant nothing to Simon, and only added to the confusion about Big Jake’s condition. Billie looked equally bewildered, her attention drawn to the scene beyond the glass: a nurse changing one of the IV bags feeding life into her husband’s arm. Simon tried to concentrate on other things, not wanting to think of Big Jake Rynerson lying in a vegetative state for the rest of his life, but his mind kept spinning back to that very thought, the way a tongue keeps picking at a popcorn husk caught between the teeth. A sudden change in the medical debate refocused his attention.
“Move?” Kyra stared at the doctor in bewilderment. “What are you talking about? Move him where?”
Dr. Yuan looked at Billie, who looked at her daughter. “We’re moving him to Bangkok.”
“Bangkok?” Kyra repeated, her voice rising in disbelief. “Why?”
Billie turned back to the doctor. “Thank you, Dr. Yuan. We sure do appreciate all you’re doing here.”
Yuan not only took the hint, he couldn’t escape fast enough, bowing and backing his way out of the room. Kyra waited until the door closed before going on the attack. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Well, ah course it is,” Billie answered, her West Texas twang flat with sarcasm. “I can’t imagine a more appropriate time for humor.”
“He’s in no condition to travel.”
“It’s only a two-hour flight. They’ve got a first-rate medical facility.”
“But why take the risk?”
Billie raised her chin, the expression of someone sitting with crossed arms. “Dr. Yuan assures me the risk is minimal.”
“We’re talking about Dad’s life,” Kyra shot back. “There is no minimal. ”
“You’re right, it’s his life, and I don’t believe he’s safe here.”
“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t he be safe?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Kyra, your father was shot.”
“A random shooting, you said. A botched robbery. It wasn’t personal.”
“Well, yes,” Billie answered, “but it’s not that simple.” She motioned toward the pair of tubular metal chairs. “Let’s sit down.”
Kyra expelled a deep breath—the exasperated sigh of an adult child when they’re being pushed into something by a parent—and lowered herself onto the vinyl cushion. Simon edged back against the door, hoping neither of them would try to enlist his support—a no-win entanglement, no matter what he said.
Billie slid into the second chair. “What I’m about to tell you—” She glanced at Simon, letting him know the admonition was all-inclusive. “Can’t leave this room.”
“Oh for God’s sake, Mother, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not your style.”
“I assure you, I am not being dramatic, Kyra. This is serious. I mean it. I want your word…both of you…nothing will leave this room.”
“Of course,” Simon answered without hesitation, hoping Kyra would take the hint and give her mother some slack. “Whatever you say, Billie.”
Kyra shrugged wearily and sat back. “Okay. Sure. What’s the big secret?”
Billie glared back at her, ready to pounce, then apparently thought better of it and simply responded to her daughter’s sarcasm. “Yes, Kyra, that’s exactly what it is…a secret.” She paused, still groping for the right words. “Your father’s been working on something very important with the President.”
Kyra glanced at Simon, then back to her mother. “The president of what?”
“The president of the United States.”
“Oh.” She gave her mother a puzzled, somewhat mistrustful look. “I thought Daddy hated politicians?”
“Normally that’s true, but he
Similar Books
