He vaguely remembered waking at six or seven in the morning, the room still dark but a hint of gray at the window, and a nurse came in and gave him a shot of something. He wanted to ask her to tell his daughter he was fine and that he would be home later, but then he fell back asleep. When he next opened his eyes, it was almost noon. Eileen was standing there, tear stains down her cheeks, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Yes,” she said, “it’s your ex-wife.” Hastings said, “Ohhh. Does this mean I’ve died and gone to hell?” Eileen laughed, emotion mixing with it. “You idiot,” she said. “Sorry. Bad joke.” “No, not that. I meant going after that psycho by yourself. You want to leave my daughter without a father?” “No. Eileen, don’t say things like that. Please.” She was chastened by his words, which was not common for her. “Okay,” she said. “I won’t.” There was silence between them for a while. Then Hastings said, “How is Amy?” “She’s okay, I think.
