The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (12 page)

The word woke him up. George chugged the water, placed the glass on the table, and said, “I don’t know. I woke up about twenty minutes ago and she wasn’t in bed. When I came down, she was there.”

While George spoke, Adam headed toward the back stairs to avoid the huddle of health care workers in the hall. Once upstairs, he sat on the top step to the side of the girls, pulled Carol and Gretchen into his arms, and carefully turned their eyes away from the sight of their mother. “Your mother fell,” he said as he rubbed their backs gently. “But she’s going to be okay.”

The girls looked up at him.

“These people will take care of your mommy, patch her up, then take her to the hospital.”

“I want Mommy.” Carol attempted to turn back and watch her mother.

Had his explanation made them think they’d be left alone? What could he do to comfort and distract them from the scene below as Shelley prepared an IV?

“You’re going to be fine, I promise. You won’t be alone.”

The girls lifted their eyes.

“Are you going to take her to the hospital?” George asked from below.

Shelley nodded. “We’ll take her to Burnet and life-flight her to Austin. We don’t have the facilities in Burnet to do more than basic care.”

“Mommy?” Carol sobbed.

“She’ll go to the hospital so very good doctors can take care of her.” Adam lifted the girls in his arms. “While your mommy is in the hospital, friends will be here with you.”

Mercifully, as the crescendo of crying increased and Shelley repeated another question to George, Miss Birdie strode in followed by her granddaughters. The cavalry had arrived.
Thank you, God.

He’d known the pillar would come and not due
only
to curiosity. As much as she attempted to hide it, Miss Birdie had a heart of gold beneath that crusty exterior.

She took charge immediately. “Upstairs,” the pillar told Bree and Mac.

“You,” she told George. “You come here and hold your wife’s hand and give the information they need to these EMS people. Preacher.” She looked up at Adam. “The girls and I’ll take care of Carol and Gretchen. You come down here and support George.” She infused those last words with scorn that a man, a husband, would act like George.

Fortunately, George didn’t notice. George seemed nearly catatonic.

Within seconds, Bree had led the little girls away from the top of the steps and their view of their mother. When he arrived in the foyer, Adam gave George a slight shove toward his wife.

At the top of the stairs stood Miss Birdie, studying the scene below her, legs apart and arms folded in front of her. She looked like a bulldog—although a skinny one—but Adam knew the frown showed concern and the crossed arms were the way she’d learned to cope with shoulder pain, supporting one arm with the other.

George didn’t know that. He glanced up at her and took a step toward his wife, then another. While George read judgment in the pillar’s scrutiny, Adam saw her assess what she needed to do. He bet cleaning up the front hall after the crowd dispersed would be her first priority.

“Sir, we’re going to need some information. Full name, last name first,” said a young man who held a small computer.

George recited the elementary material.

“Date of birth?”

After he entered that information, the young man asked, “Do you know her Texas driver’s license number?”

George rattled it off.

“Social Security number?”

George knew that, too.

“What health insurance do you have?”

“It’s with Greater Good. Group number is 546C3. Identification number 1212HH1344.”

The man did know numbers.

After the EMTs had stopped the bleeding and hooked up an IV, they covered Ouida with several blankets, put a collar around her neck, and carefully strapped her on a board, then a gurney. Believing everything was well under control, Adam headed toward the back stairs to check on the girls and to talk to Miss Birdie.

In one bedroom, Bree rocked Gretchen, who was sleeping soundly. In the other, Mac read to Carol. Both glanced up at Adam when he peeked in.

“You’re mother’s going to be fine,” Adam said. “We’re taking her to the hospital.”

When tears started down Carol’s cheeks, Adam entered the room and stooped in front of the child. “I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can. Miss Birdie and her granddaughters will stay with you.”

Once downstairs, he pulled out the cell again and called Hector.

“Hey, I need you at the Kowalskis’. Ouida fell. Can you come over and talk to me? ASAP.”

“Who is this?” Hector mumbled.

“Adam Jordan.”

“Oh, yeah, Pops.” Hector yawned. “Be right there.”

After he closed the phone, Adam joined George. “I’ll drive you into Austin.”

When George nodded, Adam noticed a cowlick sticking up in the back of his head. He’d never seen his neighbor with a hair out of place. The fact that it was said a lot about the man’s condition. That he’d accepted the ride so willingly said even more.

“Hey, Pops.” Hector entered the foyer with his usual high-energy gait but stopped as soon as Ouida was whisked past him.

“Didn’t expect all this.” Hector waved toward the crowd: George, the paramedics disappearing with Ouida on the gurney, Miss Birdie still at the top of the steps. Before Adam could say a word, Hector said, “Hey, Miss Birdie, you don’t want to be standing. Let me get you a chair.” With that, he took off into the kitchen. The next time Adam saw him, he was upstairs helping the pillar sit on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Isn’t that better?” Hector asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Wonder of wonders, Miss Birdie actually smiled at the kid, nearly cooed.

“Be right down, Pops.” He disappeared again, showing up almost immediately in the foyer.

“That was nice of you,” Adam said.

“Well, she’s not exactly a spring chicken, and she shouldn’t be standing,” Hector explained in a low voice. “But don’t tell her I said that. Annoys her.” As if Adam didn’t know that. “What’d you want?”

Realizing he was pretty tired as well, Adam leaned against the wall. “I’m going to drive George’s car to the hospital in Austin after the ambulance leaves. I’ll leave mine here. You’ll have to pick me up.”

“In your car?” Hector asked. “Pops, you’ve got to be kidding. That old blue thing won’t make it. I’ll be broken down by the side of the road.” He grinned. “Why don’t you let me drive that fine Lexus George has and you pick
me
up?”

Ignoring the words, true as they were, Adam said, “I’ll call you when I’m ready. It may be this afternoon.”

Immediately after they arrived at the hospital, nurses hurried George off to another area of the hospital to be with Ouida. While he waited, Adam drank so much coffee he could actually feel caffeine pumping through his body. It stimulated every nerve and woke up a brain that hadn’t had enough sleep, but it made his hands shake as well.

On the muted television, an anchor silently mouthed the news as pictures of earthquake damage flitted past. In the corner of the waiting room, a couple slept on short love seats. Otherwise, the area was abandoned. He could hear the pings and buzzes and an occasional voice from the nurses’ station far down the hall. But here, only the snores and grunts from the sleepers interrupted the solitude.

After a while, George entered the waiting room and threw himself into a chair with sagging cushions and wobbly arms. Before they’d left Butternut Creek, George had changed from his pajamas to immaculately tailored jeans with carefully ironed creases; a soft Carolina-blue shirt with a logo Adam didn’t recognize, probably because George hadn’t bought it at Adam’s favorite discount mall; and a pair of running shoes so expensive that Adam had once tried a pair on for fun. If George hadn’t dropped his face into his hands, Adam would’ve assumed his neighbor felt as calm and in control as his clothing suggested.

Nevertheless Adam asked, “How’s it going?” to check on his neighbor’s mental condition.

George looked up. Terror and anguish alternated across his face and reinforced Adam’s earlier concern: George didn’t handle this type of stress well. Whenever he’d talked to George—which wasn’t all that often—his neighbor seemed cool and logical. Not tonight.

“She’s—” George began in a quivering voice. He stopped to clear his throat and continue, “She’s in surgery, has been since a few minutes after we arrived. I had to sign some paperwork. That’s all I know.”

A few minutes later, a woman wearing a lab coat over scrubs approached them. “I’m Dr. Ramirez.” She reached out to shake Adam’s hand. “Are you Mr. Kowalski?”

“No, I’m her minister.” The words fell from his lips because that’s what he always said in this situation. He opened his mouth to continue,
Not really. I’m her next-door-neighbor but I’m acting sort of like her minister because she doesn’t go to church but I need to be here with George this morning.

Instead he said, “That’s Mr. Kowalski,” and pointed to George.

“Mr. Kowalski, I’m the doctor who cared for your wife in the emergency room.” She sat in a chair across from the men. “Sorry I didn’t get to see you earlier. We’ve had a blitz in the ER tonight. To catch you up, we got the bleeding on Mrs. Kowalski’s hand stopped.” With a glance at her notes, she added, “Her shoulder is dislocated and that right leg is broken. Spiral break. As you know, she’s in surgery now.”

“What are they doing, Doctor?” Adam asked. George looked stunned and long past the point of putting two or three intelligent words together.

“They’ll put that shoulder back into the socket—that won’t take long—stitch the hand up because those cuts are very deep, and set the leg. They may have to put a rod in her leg.”

“The break is that bad?” Adam asked.

She nodded. “She may have to be in traction for six to eight weeks, to heal. You’ll know more when the surgeon gets in there with more information.”

“Six to eight weeks?” George said as if that were like the wait for the second coming, which he probably didn’t believe in.

“Yes, at least. Mr. Kowalski, we’re going to have someone from social services talk to you later this morning when we have more information about her condition.”

“Social services?” George asked.

“Her shoulder will be immobilized for ten days or so, and that leg—” She shook her head. “Mr. Kowalski, your wife’s going to need a lot of care. I suggest a skilled nursing facility. We have many good ones here in Austin.”

George lay back in the chair and closed his eyes. Adam feared the man had passed out until he said, “She’s going to need care for weeks? In a nursing facility?” in a desolate voice.

When no more words or questions emerged from George, Adam asked, “How ’bout one located in Butternut Creek?”

“You’ll need to check with social services. As I said, one of the clerks will be up with information and some papers for you to sign, Mr. Kowalski.” The doctor stood. “Please check at the nurses’ station if you have any questions. She’ll be in surgery for several hours, but a room should be assigned by ten. You can wait there.”

When George nodded, she walked away.

“I’ve told her a dozen times not to carry a glass.” George sat up and opened his eyes. “Especially not at night, in the dark. You don’t know what you might trip on.” He shook his head and looked beseechingly at Adam as if expecting agreement or at least understanding of that edict.

“Dangerous,” Adam said. “That’s what happened? Ouida fell holding a glass?” He pretty much figured it was. After all, he’d seen the shards of glass and the blood. But he imagined his neighbor needed to talk.

George glanced down at his hands as if seeing blood flowing from his palm. “I don’t know what happened or why Ouida went downstairs. Guess Gretchen asked for water, but I didn’t hear her. I don’t usually hear them. Ouida takes care of that.”

Adam nodded while George shook his head.

“And I don’t know why she had those slippers on. I’ve told her not to wear those big floppy things. Too easy to step on, to trip over.” His voice sharpened. “She doesn’t listen to me.”

Adam had no answer, so they watched the silent television and pictures of destruction someplace in Asia for two or three minutes.

“Bad tsunami,” George murmured as he looked at the screen.

“Lots of people hurt.” Adam agreed. “
Tsunami
, an odd word,” he added, having no idea what else to talk about.

George mused a few minutes. “Japanese,” he said. “Literally means ‘harbor wave.’ What we used to call a tidal wave. Silent
t
.”

“Interesting,” Adam said.

“You don’t have to stay,” George said after another long pause.

“I know. I want to stay. I’m your neighbor. Besides, Miss Birdie said I had to call her as soon as we knew more about Ouida.”

George nodded. “Wouldn’t want to cross her.” A note of respect and fear colored his voice. “Not Miss Birdie.”

Twenty minutes later, George said, “You know I care about Ouida.”

“I know.”

“She’s the one who takes care of all this.” He waved around the waiting room as if she were the hospital’s chief of staff. “I mean, she takes the kids to the doctor. She…well, she does all the home stuff. The only time I’ve been in a hospital was when the kids were born.”

He leaned forward and fixed Adam with the stare that probably said
trust me
to his clients but only said
I’m out of my element here
to Adam.

“I’m a good accountant,” George said. “But—and Ouida knows this—not exactly high on the taking-care-of-others scale. I handle the money. She handles the children and the emergencies at home.”

Adam knew that from his conversations with Ouida. She’d also told him George always acted calm and in charge, but not this morning.

“What am I going to do about work?” he asked. “Someone’s going to have to take care of the children.” George glanced up at Adam. “You probably wonder how I can wonder about work when Ouida’s undergoing surgery, but this is how I support my family and I have a dozen employees. If I don’t keep the business running, they don’t have jobs and we don’t have money to live on.” His shoulders drooped. “Six to eight weeks?”