The Bad Daughter(108)

“As soon as the doctor gives you the okay.”

“Think you’re strong enough to leave the hospital?” Blake asked.

“I think so.”

As if on cue, Dr. Arla Simpson walked into the room, a stethoscope around her neck. “Well, well. Look who’s conscious.”

“Hello, Arlene.” Robin dug her nails into the palms of her hands, no longer sure if she was awake or back in one of her strange dreams.

“It’s Arla now,” the doctor said with a smile “You gave us quite a scare. Luckily, the injury looked much worse than it was. The wound is actually pretty superficial, even though I’m sure it hurts like hell. And will probably hurt for quite some time. At least you’ll have an interesting scar to tell your grandchildren about.”

“It’s pretty sexy, actually,” Blake said.

Arla looked from Robin to Blake and back again. “He’s a keeper,” she whispered, unwrapping the stethoscope from her neck and holding it against Robin’s chest. “Nice strong heartbeat.” She reached for the blood pressure unit on the wall beside Robin’s head and wrapped its sleeve around Robin’s upper arm.

Robin felt the pressure building as the sleeve tightened its grip, as if a hungry boa constrictor had latched onto her arm and was coiling toward her throat, preparing to swallow her whole.

“Blood pressure’s a little elevated, but that’s to be expected under the circumstances.” Arla removed the apparatus from Robin’s arm. “I’ll write you a prescription for some antibiotics and a few painkillers for when this one wears off. You’ll come back tomorrow, we’ll change the bandages, and have another look. For now, if you feel up to it, you’re good to go.” Arla patted Robin’s knee, then left the room.

“Thank you. My blouse…?”

“Evidence,” the sheriff said.

“I brought some clothes from home,” Melanie said.

“Thank you.”

“Can we see Daddy before we leave?” Cassidy asked.

Robin nodded.

Cassidy smiled, and Robin saw Tara in her face.

Someone shot Tara in the face, she thought. Someone had slashed the nude painting of her in half, which suggested the attack had been personal and fueled with rage. Cassidy had admitted to being angry with her mother.

Angry enough to shoot her?

“Robin?” Cassidy was asking. “Is something wrong?”

“What?”

“You kind of froze up.”

“You want me to get the doctor back in here?” Blake asked.

“No, I’m okay.”

“I’ll give you some privacy,” the sheriff said, walking to the door. “I’ll come by to get those statements in a few hours, if that’s all right.”

“The sooner, the better,” Melanie said. “Never thought I’d hear myself say that,” she said after he was gone.

Robin allowed Blake to help her off the bed, out of her hospital gown, and into the loose-fitting sundress Melanie had brought from home.

“I’ll get a wheelchair,” Cassidy offered, running into the hall.

“Sweet kid,” Blake said.

Was she? Robin found herself thinking. Or was it possible that everything Kenny had said was true?

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Blake asked as Cassidy returned with the wheelchair. “Your face is a little…”

“Scrunched up?” Robin said, resigned.

Blake laughed. “Still cute, though.”

Robin sank into the wheelchair’s black leather seat, and Blake pushed the chair through the door, wheeling her out of the emergency room and down the corridor to the next wing, Melanie and Cassidy beside them.

“Well, if it isn’t our little miracle girl,” a nurse said, approaching Cassidy with open arms. “How are you, angel?”

“Fine,” Cassidy said, returning the embrace.

Our little miracle girl, Robin repeated silently. What am I missing?

Cassidy had been shot and almost killed. It had been a miracle that she’d survived, a miracle that the bullet had missed both her heart and her lungs.

There was no way anyone could have planned that. No one was that good a shot.

Unless Kenny wasn’t a good shot at all.

“Turns out it’s not as easy to hit your target as it looks on TV.”

“Good thing that boy’s aim wasn’t better.”

“Oh, God.”

“What is it?” Melanie asked.

“Robin,” Blake said. “Are you okay?”

“I assume you’re here to see your father,” the nurse said, cutting short her conjecture.

“How is he?”

“He’s very low,” the nurse replied. “It won’t be much longer.”

Cassidy grabbed Robin’s hand.

“You don’t have to go in there,” Robin told her.

“Yes, I do. I need to see him. To say goodbye.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road.” Melanie marched into their father’s room.

Blake pushed Robin’s wheelchair through the door. Robin saw immediately that her father’s once hardy complexion was the color of ash. His lips were partly open and his cheeks caved in, as if he were sucking on a lemon.