rules.”
“If you knew him, you’d understand why.” Sue looked at the bedraggled, scantily clad journalist, trying to keep from laughing. “Jake, good to see you. How are you?”
Before Jake could answer, Dr. Simpson said, “I caught him sneaking around ICU. He needs to get back to his room. We’re on our way.”
“Let him sit here with me, Doctor. I can take care of both of them. I’ve got eighteen years as a nurse, including a few in ICU.”
“I can see you’re as stubborn as Mr. Woods here.” Jake welcomed Simpson’s air of resignation.
“Yes, Doctor. Maybe more so.” Sue smiled, but she wasn’t kidding.
“All right, I’ve got surgery. No more time for this nonsense. I’ll tell the nurses to give you fifteen minutes, Mr. Woods. That’s all. Then they wheel you back to your own room. You try this again and we’ll strap you down. Deal?”
“Deal. Thanks.”
The doctor grabbed another chair from the corner of the room and set it down, not so gently, for Jake. “Don’t mention it. That’s what we’re here for, right? Who cares about rules and policies? Excuse me while I go try to be a doctor instead of a hall monitor!” He was gone.
Sue pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at Jake. “I have this way with people,” he explained. Both chuckled, like people who needed to.
Jake eyed Sue’s big leather Bible in her hands. It always looked out of proportion, Sue so small and the book so big. She stood up and moved her chair so Jake could pull alongside her, closer to Finney. The two sat quietly, saying nothing and focusing their thoughts and hopes on Finney.
Finnegan Douglas Keels. Friendly to a fault. Open heart and open hand. A vagrant prospecting for a handout would always approach him first. Broad shoulders, the look of an athlete. No longer the washboard stomach he once had, but as fit as any fifty-year-old had the right to be. His hair hadn’t changed since high school, except the graying temples. Short, wavy, the straight cut of the ex-athlete, ex-soldier.
You’re an institution, Finn. The Berlin Wall could come down, the Yankees could finish last, but Finney would always be there. Like the rising sun, like the stars, something you could set your watch by. A beacon. A lighthouse. And sometimes a major pain in the rear.
Finney’s laugh. That’s what was so conspicuously absent from this tomb-like room. Finney’s great, powerful, heartfelt laugh. A laugh that was always spontaneous, never self-conscious. He didn’t notice and didn’t seem to care if people turned and looked, as if a laugh was never something to apologize for. It was the laugh of someone who enjoyed life. But here he was, teetering on life’s edge, threatening to fall over the other side. Jake could sense it. Finney was further gone than Doc.
Finney’s thick shoulders seemed so out of place in a sick bed. Those shoulders had been there for a lot of people. For the Cambodian family the Keels had adopted. For the pregnant girls they’d opened their home to. For hungry people overseas who were fed from an established percentage of the profits from Finney’s business. Finney was the kind of guy people instinctively trusted and opened up to. Jake remembered that store clerk who poured out her heart to Finney after he saw something in her eyes and asked if he could help. Finney was at his best with people who were serving, those who were used to being under-appreciated and pushed around and told what to do. They could tell Finney respected and appreciated them. He always said “thank you.” He always left a generous tip but never expected them to trade their dignity or sincerity to get it. He always said the thing that set them at ease, that made them feel equals rather than subordinates.
Like that waitress at Corey’s who spilled coffee on him. Finney assured her everything was fine, as if he’d often been scalded by his waitress. Jake was surprised it hadn’t done more damage, that fresh steaming cup of
“If you knew him, you’d understand why.” Sue looked at the bedraggled, scantily clad journalist, trying to keep from laughing. “Jake, good to see you. How are you?”
Before Jake could answer, Dr. Simpson said, “I caught him sneaking around ICU. He needs to get back to his room. We’re on our way.”
“Let him sit here with me, Doctor. I can take care of both of them. I’ve got eighteen years as a nurse, including a few in ICU.”
“I can see you’re as stubborn as Mr. Woods here.” Jake welcomed Simpson’s air of resignation.
“Yes, Doctor. Maybe more so.” Sue smiled, but she wasn’t kidding.
“All right, I’ve got surgery. No more time for this nonsense. I’ll tell the nurses to give you fifteen minutes, Mr. Woods. That’s all. Then they wheel you back to your own room. You try this again and we’ll strap you down. Deal?”
“Deal. Thanks.”
The doctor grabbed another chair from the corner of the room and set it down, not so gently, for Jake. “Don’t mention it. That’s what we’re here for, right? Who cares about rules and policies? Excuse me while I go try to be a doctor instead of a hall monitor!” He was gone.
Sue pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows at Jake. “I have this way with people,” he explained. Both chuckled, like people who needed to.
Jake eyed Sue’s big leather Bible in her hands. It always looked out of proportion, Sue so small and the book so big. She stood up and moved her chair so Jake could pull alongside her, closer to Finney. The two sat quietly, saying nothing and focusing their thoughts and hopes on Finney.
Finnegan Douglas Keels. Friendly to a fault. Open heart and open hand. A vagrant prospecting for a handout would always approach him first. Broad shoulders, the look of an athlete. No longer the washboard stomach he once had, but as fit as any fifty-year-old had the right to be. His hair hadn’t changed since high school, except the graying temples. Short, wavy, the straight cut of the ex-athlete, ex-soldier.
You’re an institution, Finn. The Berlin Wall could come down, the Yankees could finish last, but Finney would always be there. Like the rising sun, like the stars, something you could set your watch by. A beacon. A lighthouse. And sometimes a major pain in the rear.
Finney’s laugh. That’s what was so conspicuously absent from this tomb-like room. Finney’s great, powerful, heartfelt laugh. A laugh that was always spontaneous, never self-conscious. He didn’t notice and didn’t seem to care if people turned and looked, as if a laugh was never something to apologize for. It was the laugh of someone who enjoyed life. But here he was, teetering on life’s edge, threatening to fall over the other side. Jake could sense it. Finney was further gone than Doc.
Finney’s thick shoulders seemed so out of place in a sick bed. Those shoulders had been there for a lot of people. For the Cambodian family the Keels had adopted. For the pregnant girls they’d opened their home to. For hungry people overseas who were fed from an established percentage of the profits from Finney’s business. Finney was the kind of guy people instinctively trusted and opened up to. Jake remembered that store clerk who poured out her heart to Finney after he saw something in her eyes and asked if he could help. Finney was at his best with people who were serving, those who were used to being under-appreciated and pushed around and told what to do. They could tell Finney respected and appreciated them. He always said “thank you.” He always left a generous tip but never expected them to trade their dignity or sincerity to get it. He always said the thing that set them at ease, that made them feel equals rather than subordinates.
Like that waitress at Corey’s who spilled coffee on him. Finney assured her everything was fine, as if he’d often been scalded by his waitress. Jake was surprised it hadn’t done more damage, that fresh steaming cup of
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