will lead me to Gene.
“Can I help you?”
I look up from the floor, and standing in front of me is a young woman with blond hair tied up on top of her head and held in place by two ballpoint pens. She’s wearing a blue cotton V-neck shirt covered with pins that have cartoon characters on them. “Are you visiting someone?” She says this all smiley, like she works at a theme park or something.
“Yeah, I’m here to see Gene,” I say. She motions to a tall desk and slips behind it.
“Let’s see, when was he brought in?” she asks while flipping through a metal binder.
“Last night. He was cut here,” I say, pointing to the same spot on my own shoulder.
“What’s his last name, sweetie?”
“Hassard,” I say. “Gene Hassard.”
“Yes, here it is.
Hassard, Gene.
He is in room four-fourteen.” She points to the floor. “Follow the yellow line to the elevators and go up to the fourth floor.”
“Yellow line,” I repeat, staring down at the floor.
“Just like the yellow brick road,” she says, rocking her head back and forth.
“Thanks.”
Standing outside room 414, I can see the end of a metal bed and two lumps under a blanket that must be Gene’s feet. I walk in and sit down in a chair next to him. Machines surround his bed, and they all have plastic tubes that snake their way into Gene. I’m surprised to see that his head is almost completely bandaged except for his eyes and his mouth, and his arm is in a cast up to his shoulder, with metal rods sticking out to hold his arm upright. He looks totally messed up. His eyes are closed. I just sit there for a minute, listening to the steady beeps coming from the machine to my left. I watch the lines that are tracing his heartbeat and think,
Just keep going. Don’t you stop, you stupid line, don’t stop.
“Gene,” I say softly, “It’s me, Jake. I know you can’t hear me, but I’m telling you, you can’t die on me.” I put both hands on the metal railing on the side of his bed. “You can’t die, Gene.”
“Who said anything about dying?” Gene says, but I can’t even see his lips move. I stand up, looking around.
“Gene?”
“Over here, Jake.” I look up to see the curtain on the other side of the bed move slightly. I dart around the curtain, and there’s Gene smiling at me.
“Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t do anything. You were the one over there, professing your undying love to a perfect stranger.” Gene is laughing now, but it’s making him wince.
“Gimme a break. I thought you were on your deathbed. You had me totally freaked.” I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m thinking about the beach. “So when are you getting out? What did the doctors say? You’re going to be healed up enough to work Barrington Beach, right?”
“Slow down, Jake. The doctors say I should be out in a couple days, but I don’t know about pulling that rake. The muscles in my neck and shoulder need to heal. They have to make sure there’s no infection. They think it will be a few months if everything goes well.”
“A few months? What are we going to do? The beach opens a week from tomorrow!” I’m totally freaking out. Gene and I making a huge score at the beach is all part of the plan. That’s how it’s supposed to work. That’s how we were going to save the diner.
Gene puts his good hand on mine. “I’ll make a couple of calls when I get out. Get you on Jay Miller’s boat, or Dave Becker’s. They’re good guys, and they can catch a lot of quahogs. It’ll be all right, Jake.”
“But that’s not it. They’re not going to give me more than ten percent. They’re not in on the plan.” My voice is cracking, and I move away from the bed and look out the window at the Providence River. Gene must have forgotten. Maybe his brain is screwed up with all the drugs they’re giving him.
What am I going to do?
“Look, Jake, I’ll be out in a couple days. We can get our heads straight and figure this thing out.” I turn
“Can I help you?”
I look up from the floor, and standing in front of me is a young woman with blond hair tied up on top of her head and held in place by two ballpoint pens. She’s wearing a blue cotton V-neck shirt covered with pins that have cartoon characters on them. “Are you visiting someone?” She says this all smiley, like she works at a theme park or something.
“Yeah, I’m here to see Gene,” I say. She motions to a tall desk and slips behind it.
“Let’s see, when was he brought in?” she asks while flipping through a metal binder.
“Last night. He was cut here,” I say, pointing to the same spot on my own shoulder.
“What’s his last name, sweetie?”
“Hassard,” I say. “Gene Hassard.”
“Yes, here it is.
Hassard, Gene.
He is in room four-fourteen.” She points to the floor. “Follow the yellow line to the elevators and go up to the fourth floor.”
“Yellow line,” I repeat, staring down at the floor.
“Just like the yellow brick road,” she says, rocking her head back and forth.
“Thanks.”
Standing outside room 414, I can see the end of a metal bed and two lumps under a blanket that must be Gene’s feet. I walk in and sit down in a chair next to him. Machines surround his bed, and they all have plastic tubes that snake their way into Gene. I’m surprised to see that his head is almost completely bandaged except for his eyes and his mouth, and his arm is in a cast up to his shoulder, with metal rods sticking out to hold his arm upright. He looks totally messed up. His eyes are closed. I just sit there for a minute, listening to the steady beeps coming from the machine to my left. I watch the lines that are tracing his heartbeat and think,
Just keep going. Don’t you stop, you stupid line, don’t stop.
“Gene,” I say softly, “It’s me, Jake. I know you can’t hear me, but I’m telling you, you can’t die on me.” I put both hands on the metal railing on the side of his bed. “You can’t die, Gene.”
“Who said anything about dying?” Gene says, but I can’t even see his lips move. I stand up, looking around.
“Gene?”
“Over here, Jake.” I look up to see the curtain on the other side of the bed move slightly. I dart around the curtain, and there’s Gene smiling at me.
“Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t do anything. You were the one over there, professing your undying love to a perfect stranger.” Gene is laughing now, but it’s making him wince.
“Gimme a break. I thought you were on your deathbed. You had me totally freaked.” I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m thinking about the beach. “So when are you getting out? What did the doctors say? You’re going to be healed up enough to work Barrington Beach, right?”
“Slow down, Jake. The doctors say I should be out in a couple days, but I don’t know about pulling that rake. The muscles in my neck and shoulder need to heal. They have to make sure there’s no infection. They think it will be a few months if everything goes well.”
“A few months? What are we going to do? The beach opens a week from tomorrow!” I’m totally freaking out. Gene and I making a huge score at the beach is all part of the plan. That’s how it’s supposed to work. That’s how we were going to save the diner.
Gene puts his good hand on mine. “I’ll make a couple of calls when I get out. Get you on Jay Miller’s boat, or Dave Becker’s. They’re good guys, and they can catch a lot of quahogs. It’ll be all right, Jake.”
“But that’s not it. They’re not going to give me more than ten percent. They’re not in on the plan.” My voice is cracking, and I move away from the bed and look out the window at the Providence River. Gene must have forgotten. Maybe his brain is screwed up with all the drugs they’re giving him.
What am I going to do?
“Look, Jake, I’ll be out in a couple days. We can get our heads straight and figure this thing out.” I turn
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