Will suggested getting him out of his clothes, but his daddy said he hadn’t gotten out of his clothes in the middle of the day at home in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. “Such is for hospital folks.”
Then he wanted his cane, even though he wasn’t going anywhere, and Lonnie, intent on disappearing, quickly said he would go get it. Will was left at the foot of the bed, staring at the old man’s shock of silver hair and remembering how that hair had swirled as the old man came at him with the cane. He felt sick.
Tenderly he fingered the cut on his cheekbone, felt the dried blood and the swelling flesh. No doubt it didn’t look good, but the old man hadn’t shown any concern about it. Not one word; not so much as a glance. The sick feeling turned to anger. An anger that frightened him and made him a stranger to himself.
Then Miss D’Angelo came sweeping through the door, with her fluttering earrings and swaying walk, bearing a tray in her hands. “I brought one of your pain pills, Mr. Starr, and an ice pack. It’ll help bring down that swellin’. I have some tomato juice, too. You seem like a tomato juice man."
The old man lifted his arm and pointed at the door. “Well, now, young lady, you can just get your wigglin’ bottom right back out of this house. You’ve caused enough trouble. This is still my place, and I say what stays or goes, and you’re goin’—you and your fancy bitch dog. Get on outta here!”
The last came out a roar that pushed the gal back a step.
The words echoed inside Will’s brain. They were equivalent to the firing of a gun, sending the racing horses of fury up and out of him.
Gripping the turned footboard of the dark old bed, Will leaned forward and locked eyes with his father. “Yes, sir, this is your place. By God, you sure do own it, but right now you can’t run it. Right now you can’t get out of that bed, so whether you like it or not, I’m in charge.” He poked his chest with his finger and then pointed at the old man. “And I’ve got two choices for you: you can let this woman take care of you, or you can go into a nursing home and be taken care of there. It don’t matter to me one iota which one you choose, either, but I damn sure know I’m not gonna be nursing you. And I’ll tell you something more—once you get out of that bed and on your feet again, you can just see to the runnin’ of every damn part of this place, and I’ll be out of here.”
Shoving himself away from the bed and the old man, he turned on the gal, saying, “You said you could handle him, Miss D’Angelo, so you just go ahead and have at it!”
Will stalked away from them and past Lonnie lurking in the hallway, the way he wished he could stalk away from his whole damn life.
As the echo of Will Starr’s boots died on the wooden floor, Ruby Dee wished heartily that she hadn’t witnessed what she had.
Her gaze met that of Lonnie Starr, who hesitated in the shadowy hallway, a pained expression on his face. Then she looked at the elderly Mr. Starr. The man’s white hair stood on end. His expression was cold and hard; the bitterness emanating from him was strong enough for Ruby Dee to taste it.
It scared her a little. She had the distinct impression that if he could have gotten his hands around her neck, he would have strangled the life out of her. And he appeared strong.
“I’ll just leave this for you,” she said, her voice breaking as tears threatened.
It seemed a little foolish to think he would actually choke her, but she stayed out of his reach as she found a place for the juice and the pill on the cluttered nightstand, then quickly dropped the blue ice pack on the bed near his hand.
He sat stony-faced. A man clinging to his pride and his misery. Her heart cracked open and poured out. She wanted badly to say something to ease him, but no doubt he would most appreciate being left alone. She had witnessed his humiliation by his son; now he would sooner die than
Then he wanted his cane, even though he wasn’t going anywhere, and Lonnie, intent on disappearing, quickly said he would go get it. Will was left at the foot of the bed, staring at the old man’s shock of silver hair and remembering how that hair had swirled as the old man came at him with the cane. He felt sick.
Tenderly he fingered the cut on his cheekbone, felt the dried blood and the swelling flesh. No doubt it didn’t look good, but the old man hadn’t shown any concern about it. Not one word; not so much as a glance. The sick feeling turned to anger. An anger that frightened him and made him a stranger to himself.
Then Miss D’Angelo came sweeping through the door, with her fluttering earrings and swaying walk, bearing a tray in her hands. “I brought one of your pain pills, Mr. Starr, and an ice pack. It’ll help bring down that swellin’. I have some tomato juice, too. You seem like a tomato juice man."
The old man lifted his arm and pointed at the door. “Well, now, young lady, you can just get your wigglin’ bottom right back out of this house. You’ve caused enough trouble. This is still my place, and I say what stays or goes, and you’re goin’—you and your fancy bitch dog. Get on outta here!”
The last came out a roar that pushed the gal back a step.
The words echoed inside Will’s brain. They were equivalent to the firing of a gun, sending the racing horses of fury up and out of him.
Gripping the turned footboard of the dark old bed, Will leaned forward and locked eyes with his father. “Yes, sir, this is your place. By God, you sure do own it, but right now you can’t run it. Right now you can’t get out of that bed, so whether you like it or not, I’m in charge.” He poked his chest with his finger and then pointed at the old man. “And I’ve got two choices for you: you can let this woman take care of you, or you can go into a nursing home and be taken care of there. It don’t matter to me one iota which one you choose, either, but I damn sure know I’m not gonna be nursing you. And I’ll tell you something more—once you get out of that bed and on your feet again, you can just see to the runnin’ of every damn part of this place, and I’ll be out of here.”
Shoving himself away from the bed and the old man, he turned on the gal, saying, “You said you could handle him, Miss D’Angelo, so you just go ahead and have at it!”
Will stalked away from them and past Lonnie lurking in the hallway, the way he wished he could stalk away from his whole damn life.
As the echo of Will Starr’s boots died on the wooden floor, Ruby Dee wished heartily that she hadn’t witnessed what she had.
Her gaze met that of Lonnie Starr, who hesitated in the shadowy hallway, a pained expression on his face. Then she looked at the elderly Mr. Starr. The man’s white hair stood on end. His expression was cold and hard; the bitterness emanating from him was strong enough for Ruby Dee to taste it.
It scared her a little. She had the distinct impression that if he could have gotten his hands around her neck, he would have strangled the life out of her. And he appeared strong.
“I’ll just leave this for you,” she said, her voice breaking as tears threatened.
It seemed a little foolish to think he would actually choke her, but she stayed out of his reach as she found a place for the juice and the pill on the cluttered nightstand, then quickly dropped the blue ice pack on the bed near his hand.
He sat stony-faced. A man clinging to his pride and his misery. Her heart cracked open and poured out. She wanted badly to say something to ease him, but no doubt he would most appreciate being left alone. She had witnessed his humiliation by his son; now he would sooner die than
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