Goodnight, Irene

Ke

Barbara was holding on to his hand through the bedrail, staring at him. She turned when she heard us, and Sister Theresa said, “Your sister is here to see how you and your husband are doing. Why don’t I sit with Mr. O’Co

If I hadn’t had a nun with me, I doubt she would have left his side, so the lady at the front desk had done me a favor. Barbara got up slowly and walked out of the room with me.

“How is he?” I asked her in the hallway.

She shrugged. “He’s what they call semi-comatose. Every hour they come in and give him neurological tests-see if his pupils respond to light and if he reacts to mild pain-like having his skin pricked, things like that. So far, he has. They tell me that’s good,” she said woodenly.

“And what about you?”

“I’m okay. I try to talk to him and read to him. The nurses told me Ke

We walked in silence for a moment. We passed a couple who sat in a waiting area, tension etched into their faces. Who could help wondering about the stories behind the people in hospital hallways and waiting rooms?

“Barbara, if you need to get some sleep or do some errands or something, maybe I could come down and give you a break. I would be grateful if you’d let me help you out a little.”

“I’m okay,” she said again. After a moment she said, “But thanks.”

She was anxious to get back to the room, so we turned around and headed back. Sister Theresa walked me out the main entrance, right under the receptionist’s surprised nose.

“Patience, Irene,” she said to me as I left.

“Not my strong suit, Sister, but I’ll try.”

On the walk back to the paper I thought about Barbara’s devotion to Ke

I had never thought Ke

Truth be told, somewhere inside me a voice that would like to be mistaken for my conscience said, “You wished this on him.” All those times Barbara had cried to me on the phone about him, all those times I’d said, “Don’t worry, Barbara, someday Ke

Of course, I hadn’t expected Amy Vanderbilt to be carrying a baseball bat, but I hadn’t exactly wished him well, either. So now he lay half-dead, while my sister spun a web of fragile hope around him.

14

THIS KIND OF THINKING is not good for one’s optimistic outlook in life, so I was a little down when I reached the door of the Wrigley Building. As I opened it, I saw Frank politely signing in for Geoff, who took no one at his word. As he pushed the clipboard back across the counter, I realized how happy I was to see him. He gave me a smile. Just what the doctor ordered. “Sign him back out, Geoff, I’m making him take me to lunch.”

Geoff, another member of the “Coalition of Those Who Are Terribly Concerned About Irene Still Being Single,” gave me a knowing look.

Frank walked me out to his car, a battered, old gray Volvo. “Is this thing going to make it to L.A.?” I asked, trying not to laugh out loud. “What’d you do, steal it from Columbo?”

“Well, excuse me, Princess Di. Here I am, being a nice guy and offering to take you to lunch, and you give me grief about my car. I’m not a glutton for freeway driving-I’ll let you take us in your car, if you prefer, your highness.”

“I love to hear men talk that way. No, you can drive, and I promise to try not to make jokes about your car.”

“I just drive this thing to make the taxpayers feel good, anyway.”

Despite its external appearance, the car was very comfortable and clean on the inside.

“So where are we going for lunch?” I asked, as we pulled out of the parking lot.

“You’ll see,” he said. “By the way, I got in touch with Hernandez.”

“And?”

“He talked to O’Co

“So what happened in May?”

“Not much, I guess, except that Hernandez had never heard the Ha

Frank broke off long enough to negotiate getting on the 405 Freeway going north. Traffic was, as usual, ridiculously heavy. Where could all of these people be going at noon? We hunkered down for some “slow and go,” and Frank took up the conversation again.

“I guess O’Co

“That he was.”

“So after O’Co

Frank stopped talking, and seemed to be watching something in his rearview mirror for a moment. I turned around and looked behind us. A dark car changed lanes, and began to pass us on the left.

“Don’t do that,” Frank said. “It’s not the Lincoln.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t turn around and stare at somebody if you think I’m looking at them in the rearview mirror. If they’re following us, I’d like to know for sure before you spook them off.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m pretty sure they’re just in a hurry to get past us.”

This seemed to be the case, as the car continued to weave in and out of traffic, moving on ahead of us.

“So what happened with Hernandez?”

“He got curious and put one of the assistants on the task of finding the evidence file. I guess the assistant wasn’t too happy with the job, since it was down in the morgue’s basement somewhere.

“Hernandez starts reading through the remarks about Ha