Alternate Side(45)

Nora pulled up a chair. “Are you in a lot of pain?” she said.

“It’s not so bad now. In the beginning—” Ricky grimaced.

“I’m so sorry, Enrique.”

“Nothing to do with you, Mrs. Nolan,” he said. “How’s Mr. Nolan?” Nora wondered if Ricky knew that Charlie was parroting the Jack line to the authorities. Nora had shifted to saying, “Talk to your father,” when the twins asked about it.

“Good. He was asking about you. He wanted you to know he’s sorry, too.” Not true, but suitable. “Everyone on the block really misses you.” Absolutely true. The forecast was for a freak ice storm later in the week, and Nora knew that everyone was wondering who would salt the sidewalks, as though salting the sidewalks were a complex ritual that none of them could manage themselves since it involved a bag of salt and the ability to drop it in handfuls.

“How’s the dryer vent?”

“The dryer vent?”

“Charity, she’s not getting the clothes dry the way she’s used to. The last time that happened, I cleaned out the vent with a Shop-Vac. Lotta people think, you take care of the lint filter, you got it covered, but a lot of lint winds up in that dryer vent, and then it doesn’t dry so well.” Ricky smiled, his eyelids at half-mast. Nora wondered whether he was high from the medication, and also whether when they’d lived in the apartment they’d gotten rid of a perfectly fine dryer that seemed as though it didn’t work anymore purely because they hadn’t used a Shop-Vac on the vent.

“She hasn’t said anything to me. Maybe it’s better. Or maybe she’s just waiting for you to come back and fix it for her. You know the way Charity is. She doesn’t like change much.”

“Maybe I can get one of the other guys to go down. I gotta see how they feel about that, you know. Plus how they could get down there. You know, there are a lot of issues.” Ricky looked away, grimaced again.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Nora said, reaching into her purse and pulling out an envelope. “Your Christmas bonus. I never got to give it to you.” She laid the envelope on the tray table next to the chocolates. “I didn’t want to wait until you were back to work.”

“Ah, you didn’t have to do that. But I appreciate it. It’s tough, you know. I miss the job. Charity comes by, she tells me about something like the dryer vent, I feel bad. She’s got to have a dryer that works, Charity. You don’t want her to have problems with that machine.”

“What the hell?” said a loud voice from the doorway. A small, round woman in acid-washed jeans and a T-shirt stood there, and Nora realized that until now she’d seen Ricky’s wife only from the chest up and at a distance.

“Hi, Nita,” Nora said. “I just wanted to see how your husband was doing. I brought some chocolates.”

“What the hell—you’re talking to him about fixing your damn dryer, the shape he’s in? Look at him. The man might never walk again, and all you care about is your damn dryer?”

“Babe, it’s Mrs. Nolan. She’s the one who brought the humidifier up that time. She sent the boys all that stuff, the soccer goal, the checker game. She’s got Charity works for her, they got a problem—”

“They got zero problems, Rico. You’re the one with the problems, your leg all busted up like that. You brought chocolates? You bring his van back fixed up? You bring the money he’d be making if he wasn’t lying here in a hospital bed? You bring my rent money?”

A nurse stuck her head in. “You’re disturbing the other patients again, Mrs. Ramos,” she said.

“I should leave,” Nora said. “I should let you rest, Enrique.” Nita stood in her way, with her arms across her chest. Her cleavage was still gargantuan. Nora noticed that she had a deep, ropy scar along one cheek, as though someone who hadn’t really learned how to suture skin had practiced on her a long time ago. She was wearing a gold cross, a Saint Christopher medal, and a nameplate necklace that said JUANITA. She followed Nora out into the hallway, which was bright, with even less flattering fluorescent lights and pale-green paint. All hospital corridors could double as operating theaters in a pinch.

“I just wanted to see how he was doing,” Nora said.

“Maybe take it back into the room?” the nurse at the nurse’s station said.

Nita ignored the nurse, who looked nervous. “You people,” Nita said. “You make me laugh. How’s he doing? His leg bone is broken in two places. He’s got pins in it. Twenty stitches in his leg, and that’s before they cut him open for the pins. A couple of torn ligaments that the doctors say might really be a problem in the future. In the future, they say, he could have some problems bending the knee. It’s gonna be hard for him to fix your dryer then, huh?” She’d started out in almost a normal tone of voice, but now she was yelling. The nurse stood up. Obviously the staff was familiar with Nita.

“I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“Yeah, you’re all so sorry. What about that son of a bitch who did this? He sorry? He gonna pay? Rehab, lost wages, pain and suffering? Compensation?” She sounded like the personal-injury lawyers who advertised on TV. Nora wondered if she’d already hired one.

“I hope your boys are okay,” she said.