"No. Your little girl says you stink from alcohol. How does that make you feel because I surely don't like hearing it! I'm going to check on your father, and I'll be back later. Put the wine away, wash the dishes, take out the garbage, and clean up this kitchen. Both of you! Start acting like adults! Don't wait up. Shame on you both."

I left them there, stunned. I'd always made excuses for them because Wes screamed and yelled enough for both of us and, frankly, I didn't like confrontations. But the time was long overdue that they heard it from me too. Maybe they thought they could still be children themselves until someone, me, told them their behavior was beyond absurd.

I picked up a box of chocolates in the lobby of the hospital and delivered them to the nurses' station on Wes's floor. You could never be too nice to the nurses.

"Hi, this is for y'all so in case my husband snores too loud tonight y'all won't suffocate him?"

The head nurse on duty took the box and said, "Well, thank you! Who's your husband?"

"Wesley Carter. Room 129?"

"Oh, that man? He's sleeping like a little lamb," the nurse said and turned to the others. "Y'all want a chocolate-covered caramel?"

"Just keep an eye on him for me tonight, please?" I said.

They became as one voice, a Greek chorus of comedy and appetite.

"You know it, shugah! Come in here bringing candy? We gonna take extraspecial care of Mr. Carter! Isn't that right, ladies?"

"Uh-huh. I'm gonna watch him close!"

"Me too! Is that a chocolate-covered cherry?"

"Get your hands off that nougat! That's mine!"

There was a flurry of thanks and assurances. I smiled and went to find Wesley.

True to their description, Wesley was asleep, snoring softly and looking so calm and peaceful, if I hadn't known it was him by his pajamas, I might have thought someone switched bodies. I pulled a chair right up to the side of his bed and held his hand in mine. I was leaving him and without actually saying it, we all knew it. We all knew it.

CHAPTER 18.

Wes the Patient Les drove me home. The minute I opened the door from the garage I could sense the difference. The house smelled good. Les had been cooking. The kitchen counters didn't have crumbs all over them, and the garbage can wasn't overflowing. There were even some flowers on the table-probably from the grocery store-a nice touch. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath.

"What are you making?" I said.

"Lasagna," she said.

"That's my favorite," I said.

"I know. And I'm making beef stew and chicken soup."

"We don't need all that food," I said. What I should have said was thanks, but it just rolled off my tongue. It was probably the medication mixing up my manners.

"I'm making it to freeze."

"Oh," I said and realized she meant that she was cooking for us so we'd have something decent to eat when she left.

She still intended to leave. What could I do to make her stay? It was so damn nice to have her here. All at once I was bone tired and sore as hell.

"If you can just help me upstairs, I think I'm gonna take a nap," I said.

Les said, "Bertie? Help me, son."

"What?" Bertie looked up from the den where he was watching the Nature Channel or something. "Oh, yeah, sure. Come on, Dad. Easy there."

"Are Charlotte and Holly here?" I asked Bertie.

"Birthday party for some kid," Bertie said. "Back by five."

So they couldn't be here when I came home from the hospital.

"Seems like they should have been here," I said.

"Wes? You were barely gone for twenty-four hours," Les said, reading my mind.

"Whatever," I said.

I limped up the steps, leaning on Bertie and pulling on the rail. Then when I pushed open the door to my bedroom, I was pleasantly surprised. Everything was as clean as a whistle and a fresh pair of pajamas was laying on the side of the bed. I undid my belt and zipper and let my pants slide to the floor. Then I sat on the side of the bed, kicked off my loafers, and wiggled my legs free.

Les said, "Here, I'll get that."

"Thanks," I said.

She picked up my trousers and folded them lengthwise along the crease just as she'd done for the past thirty years. Then she took my loafers to the closet, and I'd bet every last dollar to my name that she put the shoe trees in them before she put them back in their place. My closet was kind of a mess because since she'd been gone I just wasn't as diligent about those things.

With her help, I eased myself under the covers and drifted off to sleep, but it wasn't really sleep. I could hear them talking, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. They closed the door and I thought they were still in the room but they weren't. The next thing I knew it was after five and I had slept away the entire afternoon. It was my cell phone that woke me up. I reached over and looked at the caller ID. It was Paolo. I answered it.

"I'm still alive," I said and chuckled.

"This is good news. So how'd it go?"

"I don't know. Okay, I guess. I had this Oriental surgeon, you know. Harold got him for me."

"I'm pretty sure they say Asian now but who cares? In general, they're smarter than everyone else anyway."

"Yeah," I said. "Walk in the park."

"For him maybe. You got any pain?"

"Not too bad. Not great but not impossible to deal with. Okay, it hurts like hell."

"Aw, man. Can I do anything for you? You want gelato?"

"Gelato? You Italians and your gelato. I love it. No, I think I need a martini, but I can't drink any booze with the medicine."

"Now that's terrible! What did they give you?"

"Hell, I don't know. Some antibiotic. Something else for pain that's blocking the road in between me and the vodka. So what's up with you? Heard from Harold?"

"Yeah. He's good. Anyway, so when can we hit the links?"

"A week. Maybe ten days. I'll get the green light from this Dr. Chen and let you know."

"Sounds good. So, no chemo or radiation?"

"Nope. Not so far."

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"Paolo?"

"What?"

"Coffee gelato is my favorite."

"You asshole."

It was good to hear from him. It was good to be alive! I knew it didn't pay to fool around with young girls like Cornelia and Lisette. Well, fool around maybe, but marry? Not in a million years! Here I was in my bed and my sheets smelled so good, and that never would've happened if Les was thirty. The best news of all? I wasn't going to die. Not yet anyway.

Les opened the door.

"I thought I heard you talking," she said.

"Yeah, Paolo called. You know, to see how I was feeling. Can you help me up? I want to go to the bathroom."

"Let me call Bertie. He's much stronger than I am. Bertie!"

"I'm so glad you're here, Les. You just don't know."

"Thanks," Les said kindly. "So how are you feeling? It's time for your pills."

"I'll take the antibiotic, but I don't want that other pill. Makes me too groggy."

"The doctor actually said you could try Motrin if this other pill made you itchy or anything like that."

A martini!

"We got any Motrin?"

Bertie came in.

"Ready, Dad?"

"Not quite." I rolled over on my side and propped myself up on one elbow. Slowly, I pushed myself up into a sitting position, but when I tried to stand, it pulled so badly in my groin that I thought I might topple over. Bertie grabbed me under the arms. "Maybe I'll take that pain pill."

"Yeah, I'd think you'd want them for the first couple of days," Les said. "After that Motrin might do the trick. The whole story with pain management is to stay ahead of the pain."

"I guess I'm stiff from lying down."

"Stitches pull too."

"Yeah," I said. "I want to go downstairs."

"For what?" Les said.

"To sit in my recliner and watch the Golf Channel."

"It's easier to bring a television to you, Wes."

"You can stream it on my laptop," Bertie said, helping me across the room.

"I don't know about streaming, but if I don't get in that little room soon . . ."

We made it there, and Bertie just kept standing around.

"I'll call you if I need you, son. Thanks."

"Okay, I'll go get my laptop. Be right back."

Streaming from a laptop. It was a whole new world, wasn't it?

I took my pills from Les, and Bertie set me up with actual live television on his computer. For the record, the computer did not smell. So I was all propped up and Les came in with a bowl of chicken soup and some buttered toast on a tray. Now, this was living!

"I thought you might be famished," she said.

"You know, now that you mention it, I am." It smelled delicious.

She moved the computer aside and put the tray on my lap.

"Call me when you're done, or I'll just send Charlotte or Bertie up to get it."

"Les, you're the best! Isn't it wonderful to be here with all of us together?"

"I think the pain medicine has gone to your brain, Wes. Really."

"Well, thanks for the soup."

She left the room and I thought, Oh, boy, this isn't going to be easy. I reached for my cell phone and called the house. Les answered.

"Why are you calling the house?" she said.