I asked, my throat raspy and dry. I knew I was wasting my breath. Calvin couldn’t stop puttering if his life depended on it. To his credit, he at least stopped pacing around the room in a big circle. Instead he kept picking up things on the dresser and movin’ ‘em. But he still looked as nervous as a sweet little honey getting ready for her first prom. All doe-eyed and bushy-tailed. “They can come pick you up.” “I ain’t riding in no ambulance,” I replied. I hated those things. Too small. Too loud. And too many damn people hovering around me, asking me if I’m alright. Is the comatose old woman strapped to the dirty gurney alright? Is she feeling alright? Bunch of morons. I’d been in enough ambulances to last thirty lifetimes. “Bethany said she’d pick you up.” “She’s at work,” I said. “She can call off.” “Damn it Cal, we aren’t going to the hospital,” I said, adding the finality to my voice to shut him up. “And quit puttering. I’m fine.” “You fell.”
