Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(32)

“Uh-oh. Are you pissed at me?” Frank pouted comically, his reaction exaggerated by pharmaceuticals.

“Let’s go home, Frank.” Judy retrieved his puffy black jacket from the chair. “Sit up please, and I’ll help you on with your coat.”

“Don’t be mad. I didn’t do it on purpose.” Frank sat up groggily, and Judy held his shoulder to support him.

“Of course you didn’t. Nobody hurts himself on purpose.”

“Right! Then why are you pissed?”

Judy picked up his right hand and began stuffing it in the sleeve of his coat. “You decided to play basketball with an already-injured hand, so it was completely foreseeable that you’d hurt yourself.”

“Wow, you sounded like such a lawyer just then!” Frank broke into a grin. “It’s because you said ‘foreseeable.’ Lawyers say that. Also Judge Judy.”

Judy draped the coat over his bad arm, thinking that it didn’t seem right that Frank kept doing dumb things and sticking her with a mess. Maybe that’s what was bothering her, the very injustice of their relationship. She turned when she heard a noise behind her, and the nurse entered the room, carrying a few sheets of paper.

“Here are your discharge papers, Frank.”

“Hi, Melissa!” Frank stood up, then listed to the left. “Whoa. My stomach feels funny.”

“That’s the Percs.” The nurse smiled at him, her eyes soft with sympathy. “Can you sign these for me?”

“Uh, sure, Melissa. Then again, maybe not.” Frank sank down into the bed, and Judy took the pen and papers from the nurse’s hand.

“I’ll sign. Drunky McDrunkerson is losing his sea legs.” Judy scribbled Frank’s name, handed back the pen and papers, and managed to get them both out of the ER and through the hospital exit doors onto a busy Seventh Street, where she took Frank’s arm. “You feel well enough to walk? I’m parked in the garage.”

“Totally,” Frank answered, though he leaned heavily on her arm as they waited for traffic to let up, then crossed the street. The morning sun had vanished, and gray clouds gathered in the sky. The city air smelled gritty and damp, after the freshness of the countryside.

“So you drove here?”

“Yeah, my truck’s in the garage. So we’ll have to come back for it tomorrow morning. I need it for work. I have to go out to Jersey to bid on a job tomorrow.”

Great, Judy thought to herself, as they went through the door to the garage, found the grimy elevator, climbed alone into a cab with filthy corrugated walls, and watched the broken floor numbers light up. She was in no mood to talk, and Frank had fallen uncharacteristically silent. They got out of the elevator, and when they reached her car, Judy chirped it open and stowed Frank in the passenger seat, where he listed to the left, with a grateful smile.

“Thanks, babe. You take such good care of me.”

“No worries. Put on your seat belt.” Judy closed the door, then went around the car, tossed her bag in the back and climbed into the driver’s seat, then closed the door behind her.

“You’re mad at me, I know. I really am sorry.”

“Forget it,” Judy said, without meaning it. This wasn’t the time or the place to talk about anything that mattered, and she had to sort out her thoughts. She put on her seat belt, started the engine, and reversed out of the spot. The garage was dark and cramped even by Philly standards, and she steered toward the exit ramp, where they corkscrewed their way downward in darkness.

“Babe. You want to say I-told-you-so, so you should just go ahead and say it.”

“I don’t want to say I-told-you-so.” Judy navigated with care, if only to avoid his eye.

“Yes you do. Say it.”

“I wish I could get you to understand this, but I don’t want to be right. I just want you to do the right thing.”

“But it was an accident.”

“It was an accident when you injured it the first time.” Judy twisted the steering wheel, hugging the concrete center of the down ramp, like a descent into urban hell. “It’s not an accident when you injure it the second time, because you’re not supposed to be playing basketball.”

“What was I supposed to do? They didn’t have enough guys for a team. They couldn’t have entered the tournament.”

“You know why they didn’t have enough guys?” Judy finally reached the first floor, where she followed exit signs to the cashier. “Because most of the guys are doing what grown-ups do on a Saturday, not playing basketball.”

“What are you talking about? You can still be grown-up and play basketball.” Frank’s tone sounded hurt, but Judy didn’t look over. The cashier’s booth was coming up, and her purse was in the backseat. She’d forgotten to take her wallet out for parking money.

“Do you have any cash on you?” Judy asked, though she knew the answer. “I only need about ten bucks.”

“No.”

“How about a card?” Judy slid the parking ticket from the visor, knowing that answer, too.

“I maxed it out on supplies, so I shouldn’t use it.”

Of course you did, Judy thought but didn’t say, simmering. She braked in the line at the booth, twisted around, and grappled in the backseat for her purse.