Read Online Nervous Water by William G. Tapply - Free Book Online Page B

and terribly still, lying there under his white sheet. He appeared to have aged twenty years in the two days since I’d seen him. An oxygen tube was pinched on his nostrils. Transparent plastic tubes snaked from the back of his hand up to a cluster of plastic bags on a steel hanger. Wires coiled out from under his sheet and led to ticking monitors.
    His eyes were closed. I had to look carefully to detect the faint, slow rise and fall of his chest.
    I turned to the nurse, who had remained standing watchfully behind me. “How is he?”
    â€œStable.”
    â€œIs he in a coma?”
    â€œNo. He’s sleeping.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, stable?”
    â€œI mean,” she said, “the doctors have given him medication. They can’t tell yet how much damage was done.”
    â€œDamage,” I said. “What happened?”
    â€œYour uncle had a heart attack.”
    â€œIs he going to make it?”
    â€œYou’d have to talk to a doctor about that.”
    â€œRight,” I said. “Yes. I definitely want to do that. How do I get to talk to a doctor?”
    She smiled. “You ask me very nicely if I’ll page him for you.”
    I returned her smile. “Please?”
    She nodded, turned, and went to one of the desks in the middle of the big room.
    I stepped to the side of Moze’s bed and gripped his hand. “Uncle Moze,” I said. “Hey, Uncle. It’s Brady. How’re you doin’?”
    I saw his eyeballs roll under his lids, but he didn’t open them.
    I gave his hand a squeeze. “Hey, old-timer. Can you hear me?”
    He gave my hand a weak squeeze, and I saw his lips move.
    I bent close to him. “Say it again.”
    His face contorted with effort, and his eyelids fluttered open. “That you, sonnyboy?” he said.
    â€œIt’s me, Uncle Moze. I’m here.”
    â€œCassie,” he whispered. Then his eyes fell shut.
    â€œI’ll get her,” I said. “I’ll find Cassie. I’ll worry about that. You concentrate on getting better.”
    He opened his eyes, blinked at me, and closed them. His lips moved.
    I bent close to him.
    â€œIt…was…Cassie,” he murmured.
    â€œWhat was Cassie?” I said. “What are you talking about, Uncle Moze?”
    But he was sleeping.
    I sat there beside his bed for a few minutes, and then the nurse came back. “That’s enough,” she said. “He needs his rest.”
    I stood up, gave Moze’s shoulder a squeeze, and told him I’d be back.
    The nurse led me over to the ICU door. “I got ahold of Dr. Drury for you,” she said. “He said he’d be up in a few minutes. There’s a waiting room out there on your left. I’ll make sure he sees you. Okay?”
    â€œA few minutes?” I said.
    She shrugged.
    There were two cheap sofas and three upholstered chairs in the little waiting room outside the ICU. A small window on one wall looked out onto other hospital buildings. A scattering of magazines lay on the low glass-topped table in the middle of the room. Today’s Health, Good Housekeeping, Popular Mechanics , Downeast, Sports Illustrated . I looked through them. None was less than eight months old.
    I was thumbing through the NBA preview issue of SI from the previous September when a deep voice said, “Excuse me? Are you Mr. Crandall’s nephew?”
    I looked up. He wore a white coat and brown pants. He had pale skin and a smooth, pink face, and despite the fact that his sand-colored hair was receding from his forehead, he looked about fifteen.
    I stood up and put out my hand. “Brady Coyne,” I said. “Mr. Crandall’s my uncle, yes.”
    He took my hand. His grip was surprisingly firm. “Wilton Drury,” he said. “I’m his cardiologist.” He gestured to the sofa where I’d been sitting.
    I sat down again, and he sat beside me.
    â€œHow is he?” I