“You’re sure about Gila Bend?”

“Yes. No doubt about it.”

“Thanks, Fred.”

“Irene? Are you going to be using the tickets? Or should I refund them?”

I thought about this. “I’m not sure. Can I let you know by this evening?”

“Sure, that’s cool. Just let me know, okay?” He gave me his home number and told me that he could make changes in the tickets from his home computer.

“I appreciate this. Take care, Fred.”

“Peace.”

Poor Fred, flair or no flair, he had missed all the interesting parts of the last couple of decades. I was trying to remember what these were when my stomach growled and reminded me to go to lunch.

Before leaving, I made a quick call to Pete Baird to tell him about the tickets and have him check MacPherson’s list. Yes, Gila Bend was on it. Yes, it was one of the highlighted places on the list. Pete told me he would call the sheriff in Gila Bend after lunch-maybe someone was expecting O’Connor. I hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment, wondering about Gila Bend and what O’Connor might have been up to there.

“What have you found out?” It was Lydia. She had walked up without my noticing. I guess I was still jumpy, because I gave a start and felt it everywhere. “Sorry,” she went on, “didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that when you pull a little on your lower lip like that, I know you’ve just learned something-something’s up.”

I put my hand down from my face, caught in the act. “Didn’t realize I do that. Guess that’s another liability of staying single-no one to point out all your little idiosyncrasies.”

“I don’t know that I’d call that a liability.”

I filled her in on what I had learned. “I’m headed over to the hospital. See you later?”

“You know where I’ll be,” she said, looking over at the City Desk, where a general-assignment reporter was waiting to see her.

WALKING OVER to St. Anne’s was a lot slower process than the day before, but moving around did make me feel better.

As I walked down the hallway, I tried to decide whether to see Frank or Barbara and Kenny first. I realized I was starting to think of Barbara and Kenny as one unit in the critical-care ward. She seemed so much a part of his being a patient here, that I couldn’t think of it as “seeing how Kenny is doing.” Since I had no reason to believe that Barbara would welcome my visit, I decided to stop by Kenny’s room first and get that over with.

As soon as I walked in, I noticed that more of Kenny’s face was showing, although he still had a great deal of swelling and bruising. Barbara sat next to him in exactly the same position I had left her in the day before. She turned to me and on her weary face I could see exhaustion taking its toll.

“Irene!” She stood up and came over and hugged me. I was so shocked that it took me a minute to hug back.

“Irene, I’m so sorry I was rude to you yesterday. Pete Baird came by-he’s been so good to me-and he told me about you and Frank. I felt so bad. I could have lost you-and the last time I might have ever talked to you, I was mean. I saw Frank. He looks awful. And look at your poor forehead!” She was crying.

I don’t know why, but these reconciliations with Barbara are so welcomed and yet so awkward that I always feel a little inner sting when they occur. It passes, and while I know that we will inevitably go back to driving each other crazy, for a few moments we both know how really important we are to each other.

“I’m okay, Barbara, but I’m really worried about you. Have you had any sleep at all?”

“A little.”

I could see how little. “How’s Kenny?”

“He’s actually doing a little better. He’s been conscious a couple of times-well, sort of-he didn’t know where he was or what was going on, but he opened his eyes. Today he looked at me and said, ‘Barbara? What are you doing here?’ It’s the most he’s talked. He recognized me; they tell me that’s a good sign.”

“Could you sleep here in his room?”

“I’ve tried, but it’s hard. People are constantly in here checking on him. I know I should go home and go to bed, but I just can’t make myself do it. What if he wakes up and he’s frightened or disoriented? He might need me.”

I put my arm around her shoulders.

“Well, well,” came a lilting voice from the doorway. “How nice to see you two girls together.” Sister Theresa walked in, smiling until she saw my forehead. “Irene, I heard you just couldn’t bear to stay away from us. Look at those bruises.”

“It was a real letdown when I realized that you don’t just hover around in here all night like a guardian angel, Sister.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, dear. But I understand you left someone special for us to look after. Detective Harriman has had many visitors from the police force, all very concerned about him.” She paused, then added, “But I daresay he will be especially happy to see you.” There was an impish grin on her face. Great. A nun matchmaker.

“Well, I guess I’ll go over and see him then,” I said.

“Good. Now, Barbara, I think you need to trust an old nun to watch your husband’s bedside for a while. Go tell the nurse at the station out in the hall that I sent you. Our census is just low enough that we can spare a quiet place for you to sleep for a few hours. I won’t take no for an answer. You need to sleep. Go on now, go.”

I felt like I was back in Catholic school. An irresistible force, Sister Theresa. We thanked her and headed out the door. Barbara gave me one last hug and headed over to the nurses’ station. I went in the other direction, to Frank’s room.

I was surprised, then relieved, to see a uniformed officer outside Frank’s door. I told him my name and he checked a list. He took a look at my ID and said, “Sorry to have to check this, Miss Kelly. You understand.” I told him I did, and that I was glad he was there.

As I opened the door, I saw the room was full of flowers and cards from well-wishers. Frank was sleeping. In some ways, he looked worse than the night before. His bruises were quite dramatic, even on his sleeping face. He had two terrific shiners from the broken nose, which was still very swollen. His forehead was swollen, too, and much more discolored than my own. The swelling on his lip had gone down a little. I noticed he wasn’t so pale today.

He opened his eyes and took a while to wake up completely. His face suddenly went ashen, reflecting a wave of pain that was hard to watch. I found myself remembering visits to my father during his last illness, and how he had told me that he always hurt the most when he first woke up. I wondered if it was the same for Frank. He saw me and smiled a little. “Hi,” he said. He tried to bring himself around.

“Hi yourself. How’s the head?” I asked. Damn silly question.

He didn’t answer right away. “Truth?”

“Truth.”

“Hurts. A lot.”

He was talking slowly, with difficulty.

“Do you want me to come back later?”

“No, stay awhile. Okay?”

“Sure. But you don’t have to talk.”

“I know,” he said. He reached for my hand and held it. His was a rough hand, with calluses here and there, but it felt good to hold it. A little scary, but good. He closed his eyes and soon fell back to sleep.

I sat there with him like that for about an hour. Throughout that time, I fought down the panic welling up within me, a rising desire to leave. During the eternity spent sitting in that wreck the day before, waiting for the ambulance to arrive, I had tried not to focus on my fears about the seriousness of his injuries. Now I had to admit to myself that even knowing that they were not life-threatening, I was still uneasy. Too much experience with hospitals as places where people were lost to you forever. Too many good-byes to people dressed just as Frank was now, in rooms like this, with rolling trays and curtains and bedrails.